•!;•:••  •:••,» 

1 


'. 


II  JFNCIV 


IRLF 


LIBRARY 

UNlVZRCiTY   OF 

CALIF;,;  NIA 
SANTA  CRUZ 


AN   ITINERANT  HOUSE 


AND    OTHER    STORIES 


AN  ITINERANT  HOUSE 


AND  OTHER  STORIES 


EMMA  FRANCES  DAWSON 


ILLUSTRATIONS    BY   ERNEST    C.   PEIXOTTO 


SAN  FRANCISCO 

WILLIAM    DOXEY 

1897 


COPYRIGHT 

WILLIAM  DOXEY 

1896 


THE    MURDOCK    PRESS 


3  £07 
MS 


PREFACE 

The  romance  of  "A  Gracious  Visitation  "  was  writ- 
ten because  Mr.  Doxey  wished  a  new  and  long  story 
for  the  book.  The  length  of  it  has  crowded  out  one 
or  two  tales. 

The  "prose  poem,"  "In  Silver  Upon  Purple,"  was 
also  written  for  this  volume. 

The  other  stories  appear  here  by  kind  permission 
of  the  following-named  publications. 

" The  Dramatic  in  My  Destiny"  was  written  at  the 
request  of  the  late  Mr.  Fred.  M.  Somers,  when  he 
and  Mr.  A.  Roman  started  The  Calif ornian  (the 
present  Overland),  and  given  the  honou  of  opening 
the  first  number. 

"Singed  Moths  "  was  written  for  the  same  magazine, 
but  Mr.  Somers  having  returned  to  The  Argonaut, 
asked  for  its  appearance  in  that  paper.  The  dreams 
mentioned  in  it  are  not  fiction. 

"Are  the  Dead  Dead?"  "  The  Second  Card  Wins," 
and  "An  Itinerant  House"  were  also  in  The  Argonaut. 

"A  Stray  Reveler  "and  "A  Sworn  Statement"  were 


PREFACE. 

written  by  the  request  of  Mr.  Ambrose  Bierce  for 
Christmas  issues  of  The  Wasp. 

As  the  idea  in  the  last-named  story,  of  the  com- 
munication of  a  vision  through  the  touch,  is  in  "  Called 
Back,"  it  may  be  well  to  state  that  the  story  was 
published  before  the  novel. 

Not  long  ago,  the  New  York  magazine,  Short 
Stories,  offered  five  prizes  for  one-page  "etchings,"  to 
be  dramatic,  queer,  humorous,  pathetic,  or  descriptive. 
There  were  thirteen  hundred  and  forty-five  competi- 
tors. The  prize  for  being  queer  was  awarded  to  "The 
Night  Before  the  Wedding." 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

An  Itinerant  House i 

Singed  Moths .     .     .     .     <     .     .     .     .     J     .     .33 
A  Stray  Reveler  .     .     .     .,    .     ...     .     .     .75 

The  Night  Before  the  Wedding 91 

The  Dramatic  In  My  Destiny 97 

A  Gracious  Visitation    .    ^    .'    .     .,     .     .     .     .141 

A  Sworn  Statement 213 

"The  Second  Card  Wins" 231 

In  Silver  Upon  Purple 275 

"Are  the  Dead  Dead?"  .283 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Telegraph  Hill,  San  Francisco i 

"Idiots"     .   '.'.,...,......     7 

"The  great  cross  on  Lone  Mountain  stood  out 
black  against  scarlet  clouds"      .     .     .     .     .43 

"Think  of  flitting  souls  going  out  into  such  a 
night" 66 

"As  she  spoke  and  I  gazed  at  the  screen"    .     .    80 

"  I  heard  a  chuckle,  as  his  wide  sleeve  swept  care- 
lessly over  the  table" 119 

"She  looked  very  shadowy  in  sweeping,  misty 
robes  and  floating  hair" 128 

"  It  was  a  wild  night" 222 

"Now  I  see  the  beach  near  the  Cliff  House"     .  269 
"A  white  hand  was  laid  on  his  shoulder".    .     .  318 


AN   ITINERANT  HOUSE. 


AN   ITINERANT  HOUSE. 


' '  Eternal  longing  with  eternal  pain, 
Want  without  hope,  and  memory  saddening  all. 
All  congregated  failure  and  despair 
Shall  wander  there  through  some  old  maze  of  wrong." 

"His  wife?"  cried  Felipa. 

"Yes/*  I  answered,  unwillingly;  for  until 
the  steamer  brought  Mrs.  Anson  I  believed  in 
this  Mexican  woman's  right  to  that  name.  I 
felt  sorry  for  the  bright  eyes  and  kind  heart 
that  had  cheered  Anson's  lodgers  through 
weary  months  of  early  days  in  San  Francisco. 

She  burst  into  tears.     None  of  us  knew  how 


Itinerant 


to  comfort  her.     Dering  spoke  first:  " Beauty 
always  wins  friends." 

Between  her  sobs  she  repeated  one  of  the 
pithy  sayings  of  her  language:  "It  is  as  easy 
to  find  a  lover  as  to  keep  a  friend,  but  as  hard 
to  find  a  friend  as  to  keep  a  lover." 

"Yes,"  said  Volz,  "a  new  friendship  is  like 
a  new  string  to  your  guitar — you  are  not  sure 
what  its  tone  may  prove,  nor  how  soon  it  may 
break." 

"But  at  least  its  falsity  is  learned  at  once," 
she  sobbed. 

"Is  it  possible,"  I  asked,  "that  you  had  no 
suspicion  ?" 

"None.  He  told  me—"  She  ended  in  a 
fresh  gust  of  tears. 

"  The  old  story,"  muttered  Dering.  "Mar- 
ryatt's  skipper  was  right  in  thinking  every- 
thing that  once  happened  would  come  again 
somewhere." 

Anson  came.  He  had  left  the  new-comer  at 
the  Niantic,  on  pretense  of  putting  his  house 
in  order.  Felipa  turned  on  him  before  we 
could  go. 

"  Is  this  true  ?"  she  cried. 

Without  reply  he  went  to  the  window  and 
stood  looking  out.  She  sprang  toward  him, 
with  rage  distorting  her  face. 


Itinerant 


" Coward!  "  she  screamed,  in  fierce  scorn. 

Then  she  fell  senseless.  Two  doctors  were 
called.  One  said  she  was  dead.  The  other, 
at  first  doubtful,  vainly  tried  hot  sealing-wax 
and  other  tests.  After  thirty-six  hours  her 
funeral  was  planned.  Yet  Dering,  once  medi- 
cal student,  had  seen  an  electric  current  used 
in  such  a  case  in  Vienna,  and  wanted  to  try  it. 
That  night,  he,  Volz,  and  I  offered  to  watch . 
When  all  was  still,  Dering,  who  had  smuggled 
in  the  simple  things  needed,  began  his  weird 
work. 

"  Is  it  not  too  late  ? "  I  asked. 

" Every  corpse,"  said  he,  "can  be  thus 
excited  soon  after  death,  for  a  brief  time  only, 
and  but  once.  If  the  body  is  not  lifeless,  the 
electric  current  has  power  at  any  time." 

Volz,  too  nervous  to  stay  near,  stood  in  the 
door  open  to  the  dark  hall.  It  was  a  dreadful 
sight.  The  dead  woman's  breast  rose  and  fell; 
smiles  and  frowns  flitted  across  her  face. 

"The  body  begins  to  react  finely,"  cried 
Dering,  making  Volz  open  the  windows,  while 
I  wrapped  hot  blankets  round  Felipa,  and  he 
instilled  clear  coffee  and  brandy. 

"It  seems  like  sacrilege!  Let  her  alone!" 
I  exclaimed.  "  Better  dead  than  alive !" 

"My  God!  say  not  that!"  cried  Volz;  "the 


Sin  Itinerant 


nerve  which  hears  is  last  to  die.  She  may 
know  all  we  say." 

"Musical  bosh!"  I  muttered. 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  Dering;  "in  magnetic 
sleep  that  nerve  can  be  roused." 

The  night  seemed  endless.  The  room 
gained  an  uncanny  look,  the  macaws  on  the 
gaudy,  old-fashioned  wall-paper  seemed  flut- 
tering and  changing  places.  Volz  crouched  in 
a  heap  near  the  door.  Dering  stood  by  Felipa, 
watching  closely.  I  paced  the  shadowy  room, 
looked  at  the  gleam  of  the  moon  on  the  bay, 
listened  to  the  soughing  wind  in  the  gum-trees 
mocking  the  sea,  and  tried  to  recall  more 
cheerful  scenes,  but  always  bent  under  the 
weight  of  that  fearful  test  going  on  beside  me. 
Where  was  her  soul?  Beyond  the  stars,  in 
the  room  with  us,  or  "like  trodden  snowdrift 
melting  in  the  dark?"  Volz  came  behind, 
startling  me  by  grasping  my  elbow. 

"Shall  I  not  play?"  he  whispered.  "Fa- 
miliar music  is  remembrance  changed  to  sound 
—  it  brings  the  past  as  perfume  does.  Gypsy 
music  in  her  ear  would  be  like  holding  wild 
flowers  to  hei  nostrils." 

"Ask  Dering,"  I  said;  "he  will  know 
best." 

I  heard  him  urging  Dering. 


Itinerant 


"She  has  gypsy  blood,"  he  said;  "their 
music  will  rouse  her." 

Dering  unwillingly  agreed.  "But  nothing 
abrupt — begin  low,"  said  he. 

Vaguely  uneasy,  I  turned  to  object;  but 
Volz  had  gone  for  his  violin.  Far  off  arose  a 
soft,  wavering,  sleepy  strain,  like  a  wind 
blowing  over  a  field  of  poppies.  He  passed, 
in  slow,  dramatic  style,  through  the  hall,  play- 
ing on  the  way.  As  he  came  in,  oddly  sus- 
tained notes  trembled  like  sighs  and  sobs; 
these  were  by  degrees  subdued,  though  with 
spasmodic  outbursts,  amid  a  grand  movement 
as  of  phantom  shapes  through  cloud-land.  One 
heart-rending  phrase  recurring  as  of  one  of  the 
shadowy  host  striving  to  break  loose,  but 
beaten  back  by  impalpable  throngs,  number- 
less grace-notes  trailing  their  sparks  like  fire- 
works. No  music  of  our  intervals  and  our 
rhythms,  but  perplexing  in  its  charm  like  a 
draught  that  maddens.  Time,  space,  our  very 
identities,  were  consumed  in  this  white  heat  of 
sound.  I  held  my  breath.  I  caught  his  arm. 

"It  is  too  bold  and  distracting,"  I  cried. 
"It  is  enough  to  kill  us!  Do  you  expect  to 
torment  her  back?  How  can  it  affect  us  so?" 

"Because,"  he  answered,  laying  down  his 
violin  and  wiping  his  brow,  "in  the  gypsy 


Itinerant 


minor  scale  the  fourth  and  seventh  are  aug- 
mented. The  sixth  is  diminished.  The  fre- 
quent augmentation  of  the  fourth  makes  that 
sense  of  unrest." 

"Bah!  Technical  terms  make  it  no 
plainer,"  I  said,  returning  to  the  window. 

He  played  a  whispered,  merry  discordance, 
resolving  into  click  of  castanets,  laugh,  and 
dance  of  a  gypsy  camp.  Out  of  the  whirl  of 
flying  steps  and  tremolo  of  tambourines  rose  a 
tender  voice,  asking,  denying,  sighing,  implor- 
ing, passing  into  an  over-ruling,  long-drawn 
call  that  vibrated  in  widening  rings  to  reach 
the  farthest  horizon  —  nay,  beyond  land  or 
.sea,  "east  of  the  sun,  west  of  the  moon." 
With  a  rush  returned  the  wild  jollity  of  men's 
bass  laughter,  women's  shrill  reply,  the  stir  of 
the  gypsy  camp.  This  dropped  behind  vague, 
rolling  measures  of  clouds  and  chaos,  where  to 
and  fro  floated  grotesque  goblins  of  grace-notes 
like  the  fancies  of  a  madman;  struggling,  ris- 
ing, falling,  vain-reaching  strains;  fierce  cries 
like  commands.  The  music  seemed  another 
vital  essence  thrilling  us  with  its  own  emotion. 

"No  more,  no  more!"  I  cried,  half  gasping, 
and  grasping  Volz's  arm.  "What  is  it,  Der- 
ing?" 

He  had  staggered  from  the  bed  and  was  try- 


Itinerant 


ing  to  see  his  watch.  "It  is  just  forty-four 
hours!"  he  said,  pointing  to  Felipa. 

Her  eyes  were  open !  We  were  alarmed  as 
if  doing  wrong  and  silently  watched  her.  Fif- 
teen minutes  later  her  lips  formed  one  word: 

"Idiots!" 

Half  an  hour  after  she  flung  the  violin  from 
bed  to  floor,  but  would  not  speak.  People 
began  to  stir  about  the  house.  The  prosaic 
sounds  jarred  on  our  strained  nerves.  We 
felt  brought  from  another  sphere.  Volz  and  I 
were  going,  but  Felipa's  upraised  hand  kept 
us.  She  sat  up,  looking  a  ghastly  vision. 
Turning  first  toward  me  she  quoted  my 
words : 

"  'Better  dead  than  alive !'  True.  You  knew 
I  would  be  glad  to  die.  What  right  had  you 
to  bring  me  back?  God's  curses  on  you!  I 
was  dead.  Then  came  agony.  I  heard  your 
voices.  I  thought  we  were  all  in  hell.  Then 
I  found  how  by  your  evil  cunning  I  was  to  be 
forced  to  live.  It  was  like  an  awful  night- 
mare. I  shall  not  forget  you,  nor  you  me. 
These  very  walls  shall  remember — here, 
where  I  have  been  so  tortured  no  one  shall 
have  peace !  Fools !  Leave  me !  Never  come 
in  this  room  again  !" 

We  went,  all  talking  at  once,  Dering  angry 


8  Qitt  Itinerant 


at  her  mood;  Volz,  sorry  he  had  not  reached 
a  soothing  pianissimo  passage;  I,  owning  we 
had  no  right  to  make  the  test.  We  saw  her 
but  once  more,  when  with  a  threatening  nod 
toward  us  she  left  the  house. 

From  that  time  a  gloom  settled  over  the 
place.  Mrs.  Anson  proved  a  hard-faced,  cold- 
hearted,  Cape  Cod  woman,  a  scold  and 
drudge,  who  hated  us  as  much  as  we  disliked 
her.  Home-sick  and  unhappy,  she  soon  went 
East  and  died.  Within  a  year,  Anson  was 
found  dead  where  he  had  gone  hunting  in  the 
Saucelito  woods,  supposed  a  suicide;  Dering 
was  hung  by  the  Vigilantes,  and  the  rest  were 
scattered  on  the  four  winds.  Volz  and  I  were 
last  to  go.  The  night  before  we  sailed,  he  for 
Australia,  I  for  New  York,  he  said: 

"  I  am  sorry  for  those  who  come  after  us  in 
this  house." 

"  Not  knowing  of  any  tragedy  here/'  I  said, 
"  they  will  not  feel  its  influence." 

"They  must  feel  it,"  he  insisted;  "it  is 
written  in  the  Proverbs,  *  Evil  shall  not  depart 
from  his  house.'" 

Some  years  later,  I  was  among  passengers 
embarking  at  New  York  for  California,  when 
there  was  a  cry  of  "  Man  overboard  !"  In  the 
confusion  of  his  rescue,  among  heartless  and 


Qln  Itinerant 


pitiful  talk,  I  overheard  one  man  declare  that 
the  drowned  might  be  revived. 

"Oh,  yes!"  cried  a  well-known  voice 
behind  me.  "But  they  might  not  thank 
you." 

I  turned — to  find  Volz !  He  \vas  coming  out 
with  Wynne,  the  actor.  Enjoying  our  com- 
radeship on  the  voyage,  on  reaching  San  Fran- 
cisco we  took  rooms  together,  on  Bush  Street, 
in  an  old  house  with  a  large  garden.  Volz 
became  leader  of  the  orchestra,  and  Wynne, 
leading  man  at  the  same  theatre.  Lest  my 
folks,  a  Maine  deacon's  family,  should  think 
I  was  on  the  road  to  ruin,  I  told  in  letters 
home  only  of  the  city  missionary  in  the 
house. 

Volz  was  hard  worked.  Wynne  was  not 
much  liked.  My  business  went  wrong.  It 
rained  for  many  weeks;  to  this  we  laid  the 
discomfort  that  grew  to  weigh  on  us.  Volz 
wreaked  his  sense  of  it  on  his  violin,  adding 
to  the  torment  of  Wrynne  and  myself,  for  to 
lonesome  anxious  souls  "the  demon  in  music" 
shows  horns  and  cloven  foot  in  the  trying 
sounds  of  practice.  One  Sunday  Volz  played 
the  "Witches  Dance,"  the  "Dream,"  and 
"  The  long,  long  weary  day." 

"I   can  bear   it  no  longer!"  said  Wynne. 


io  2ln  Itinerant 


"  I  feel  like  the  haunted  Matthias  in  '  The 
Bells.'  If  I  could  feel  so  when  acting  such 
parts,  it  would  make  my  fortune.  But  I  feel 
it  only  here." 

"I  think,"  said  Volz,  "it  is  the  gloria 
fonda  bush  near  the  window;  the  scent  is  too 
strong."  He  dashed  off  Strauss'  fretful,  con- 
flicting "Hurry  and  Delay." 

"There,  there!  It  is  too  much,"  said  I. 
"  You  express  my  feelings." 

He  looked  doubtful.  "Put  it  in  words," 
said  he. 

"How  can  I?"  I  said.  "When  our  firm 
sent  me  abroad,  I  went  sight-seeing  among  old 
palaces,  whose  Gobelin  tapestries  framed  in 
their  walls  were  faded  to  gray  phantoms  of 
pictures,  but  out  of  some  the  thrilling  eyes  fol- 
lowed me  till  I  could  not  stay  in  their  range. 
My  feeling  here  is  the  uneasy  one  of  being 
watched." 

"Ha!"  said  Volz.  "You  remind  me  of 
Heine,  when  he  wrote  from  Livorno.  He 
knew  no  Italian,  but  the  old  palaces  whispered 
secrets  unheard  by  day.  The  moon  was  inter- 
preter, knew  the  lapidary  style,  translated  to 
dialect  of  his  heart.  '  ' 

"  *  Strange  effects  after  the  moon,'  "  mused 
Wynne.  "  That  gives  new  meaning  to  Kent's 


Qln  Itinerant  fonse.  n 


threat:  *  I'll  make  a  sop  o'  the  moonshine  of 
you!'" 

Volz  went  on :  "  Heine  wrote :  ''The  stones 
here  speak  to  me,  and  I  know  their  mute  lan- 
guage. Also,  they  seem  deeply  to  feel  what 
I  think.  So  a  broken  column  of  the  old  Roman 
times,  an  old  tower  of  Lombardy,  a  weather- 
beaten  Gothic  piece  of  a  pillar  understands 
me  well.  But  I  am  a  ruin  myself,  wandering 
among  ruins.1 " 

"  Perhaps,  like  Poe's  hero,"  said  I,  "'I 
have  imbibed  shadows  of  fallen  columns  at 
Balbec,  and  Tadmor,  and  Persepolis,  until  my 
very  soul  has  become  a  ruin.' " 

"  But  I,  too,"  said  Wynne,  "  feel  the  unrest 
of  Tannhauser: 

'Alas !  what  seek  I  here,  or  anywhere, 
Whose  way  of  life  is  like  the  crumbled  stair 
That  winds  and  winds  about  a  ruined  tower, 
And  leads  no  whither.' " 

"  I  am  oppressed,"  Volz  owned,  "  as  if  some 
one  in  my  presence  was  suffering  deeply." 

"  I  feel,"  said  Wynne,  "  as  if  the  scene  was 
not  set  right  for  the  performance  now  going 
on.  There  is  a  hitch  and  drag  somewhere  — 
scene-shifters  on  a  strike.  Happy  are  you 
poets  and  musicians,  who  can  express  what  is 
vague." 


12  Qtn  Itinerant 


Volz  laughed.  "As  in  Liszt's  oratorio  of 
'Christus,'"  said  he,  "  where  a  sharp,  ear- 
piercing  sostenuto  on  the  piccolo-flute  shows 
the  shining  of  the  star  of  Bethlehem."  He 
turned  to  me.  "Schubert's  'Wanderer' 
always  recalls  to  me  a  house  you  and  I  know 
to  be  under  a  ban." 

"  Haunted?"  asked  Wynne.  "  Of  all  spec- 
ulative theories,  St.  Martin's  sends  the  most 
cold  thrills  up  one's  back.  He  said  none  of 
the  dead  come  back,  but  some  stay." 

"What  we  Germans  call  gebannt  —  tied  to 
one  spot,"  said  Volz.  "  But  this  is  no  ghost, 
only  a  proof  of  what  a  German  psychologist 
holds,  that  the  magnetic  man  is  a  spirit." 

"Go  on,  'and  tell  quaint  lies'  —  I  like 
them,"  said  Wynne. 

I  told  in  brief  outline,  with  no  names,  the 
tale  Volz  and  I  knew,  while  we  strolled  to 
Telegraph  Hill,  passing  five  streets  blocked  by 
the  roving  houses  common  to  San  Francisco. 

Wynne  said:  "  They  seem  to  have  minds 
of  their  own,  with  their  entrances  and  exits  in 
a  moving  drama." 

"Sort  of  'Poor  Jo's,'"  said  I. 

"  Castles  in  chess,"  said  Volz. 

"lo-like,"  said  Wynne,  "with  a  gad  in 
their  hearts  that  forever  drives  them  on." 


Itinerant  4§0ns£.  13 


A  few  foreign  sailors  lounged  on  the  hill  top, 
looking  at  the  view.  The  wind  blew  such  a 
gale  we  did  not  stay.  The  steps  we  had 
known,  cut  in  the  side,  were  gone.  Where 
the  old  house  used  to  be,  goats  were  browsing. 

"  Perchance  we  do  inhabit  it  but  now," 
mockingly  cried  Wynne;  "  methinks  it  must 
be  so." 

"  Then,"  said  Volz,  thoughtfully,  "  it  might 
be  what  Germans  call  'far-working'  —  acted 
in  distance  —  that  affects  us." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  asked.  "  Do  you 
know  anything  of  her  now?" 

"I  know  she  went  to  Mexico,"  said  he; 
"that  is  all." 

"What  is  'far-  working?'"  asked  Wynne. 
"  If  1  could  act  in  the  distance,  and  here  too  — 
1  what  larks!"' 

"Yes—  '  if,"  said  I.  "Think  how  all  our 
lives  turn  on  that  pivot.  Suppose  Hawthorne's 
offer  to  join  Wilkes'  exploring  expedition  had 
been  taken!" 

"Only  to  wills  that  know  no  'if  is  'far- 
working'  possible,"  said  Volz.  "Substance 
or  space  can  no  more  hinder  this  force  than 
the  one  of  mineral  magnetism.  Passavent 
joins  it  with  pictures  falling,  or  watches  stop- 
ping at  the  time  of  a  death.  In  sleep-walking, 


i4  Sin  itinerant 


some  kinds  of  illness,  or  nearness  of  death,  the 
nervous  ether  is  not  so  closely  allied  to  its 
material  conductors,  the  nerves,  and  may  be 
loosened  to  act  from  afar,  the  surest  where 
blood  or  feeling  makes  attraction  or  repulsion/' 
Wynne  in  the  two  voices  of  the  play 
repeated  : 

"  VICTOR.—  Where  is  the  gentleman? 
CHISPE.—  As  the  old  song  says: 

*  His  body  is  in  Segovia, 
His  soul  is  in  Madrid."' 

We  could  learn  about  the  house  we  were  in 
only  that  five  families  had  moved  in  and  out 
during  the  last  year.  Wynne  resolved  to 
shake  off  the  gloom  that  wrapped  us.  In 
struggles  to  defy  it,  he  on  the  strength  of  a 
thousand-dollar  benefit,  made  one  payment  on 
the  house  and  began  repairs. 

On  an  off-night  he  was  vainly  trying  to 
study  a  new  part.  Volz  advised  the  relief  to 
his  nerves  of  reciting  the  dream  scene  from 
"  The  Bells,"  reminding  him  he  had  compared 
it  with  his  restlessness  there.  Wynne  denied 
it. 

"Yes,"  said  Volz,  "where  the  mesmerizer 
forces  Matthias  to  confess." 

But  Wynne  refused,  as  if  vexed,  till  Volz 
offered  to  show  in  music  his  own  mood,  and  I 


Itinerant  ijjouse.  15 


agreed  to  read  some  rhymes  about  mine.  Volz 
was  long  tuning  his  violin. 

"I  feel,"  he  said,  ''as  if  the  .passers-by 
would  hear  a  secret.  Music  is  such  a  subtle 
expression  of  emotion  —  like  flower-odor  rolls 
far  and  affects  the  stranger.  Hearken  !  In 
Heine's  'Reisebilder,'  as  the  cross  was  thrown 
ringing  on  the  banquet  table  of  the  gods,  they 
grew  dumb  and  pale,  and  even  paler  till  they 
melted  in  mist.  So  shall  you  at  the  long- 
drawn  wail  of  my  violin  grow  breathless,  and 
fade  from  each  other's  sight." 

The  music  closed  round  us,  and  we  waited 
in  its  deep  solitude.  One  brief,  sad  phrase 
fell  from  airy  heights  to  lowest  depths  into  a 
sea  of  sound,  whose  harmonious  eddies  as 
they  widened  breathed  of  passion  and  pain, 
now  swooning,  now  reviving,  with  odd  pauses 
and  sighs  that  rose  to  cries  of  despair,  but  the 
tormenting  first  strain  recurring  fainter  and 
fainter,  as  if  drowning,  drowning,  drowned  — 
yet  floating  back  for  repeated  last  plaint,  as  if 
not  to  be  quelled,  and  closing,  as  it  began,  the 
whole. 

As  I  read  the  name  of  my  verses,  Volz  mur- 
mured: "LesNuits  Blanches.  No.  4.  Stephen 
Heller." 


1 6  &n  Itinerant 


SLEEPLESS  NIGHTS. 

Against  the  garden's  mossy  paling 
I  lean,  and  wish  the  night  away, 

Whose  faint,  unequal  shadows  trailing 
Seem  but  a  dream  of  those  of  day. 

Sleep  burdens  blossom,  bud,  and  leaf, 

My  soul  alone  aspires,  dilates, 
Yearns  to  forget  its  care  and  grief  — 

No  bath  of  sleep  its  pain  abates. 

How  dread  these  dreams  of  wide-eyed  nights ! 

What  is,  and  is  not,  both  I  rue, 
My  wild  thoughts  fly  like  wand'ring  kites, 

No  peace  falls  with  this  balmy  dew. 

Through  slumb'rous  stillness,  scarcely  stirred 
By  sudden  trembles,  as  when  shifts 

O'er  placid  pool  some  skimming  bird, 
Its  Lethean  bowl  a  poppy  lifts. 

If  one  deep  draught  my  doubts  could  solve, 
The  world  might  bubble  down  its  brim, 

Like  Cleopatra's  pearl  dissolve, 
With  all  my  dreams  within  its  rim. 

What  should  I  know  but  calm  repose  ? 

How  feel,  recalling  this  lost  sphere? 
Alas !  the  fabled  poppy  shows 

Upon  its  bleeding  heart  —  a  tear ! 

Wynne  unwillingly  began  to  recite:  "'I 
fear  nothing,  but  dreams  are  dreams — '  " 

He  stammered,  could  not  go  on,  and  fell  to 
the  floor.  We  got  him  to  bed.  He  never 


Qtn  Itinerant  tyonst.  17 

spoke  sanely  after.  His  wild  fancies  appalled 
us  watching  him  all  night. 

"Avaunt  Sathanas!  That's  not -my  cue," 
he  muttered.  "A  full  house  to-night.  How 
could  Talma  forget  how  the  crowd  looked,  and 
fancy  it  a  pack  of  skeletons?  Tell  Volz  to 
keep  the  violins  playing  through  this  scene,  it 
works  me  up  as  well  as  thrills  the  audience. 
Oh,  what  tiresome  nights  I  have  lately, 
always  dreaming  of  scenes  where  rival  women 
move,  as  in  '  Court  and  Stage/  where,  all 
masked,  the  king  makes  love  to  Frances 
Stewart  before  the  queen's  face !  How  do  I 
try  to  cure  it?  'And  being,  thus  frighted, 
swear  a  prayer  or  two  and  sleep  again.' 
Madame,  you're  late;  you've  too  little  rouge; 
you'll  look  ghastly.  We're  not  called  yet; 
let's  rehearse  our  scene.  Now,  then,  I  enter 
left,  pass  to  the  window.  You  cry  'is  this 
true?'  and  faint.  All  crowd  about.  Quick 
curtain." 

Volz  and  I  looked  at  each  other. 

"Can  our  magnetism  make  his  senses  so 
sharp  that  he  knows  what  is  in  our  minds?" 
he  asked  me. 

"Nonsense!"  I  said.  "Memory,  laudanum, 
and  whisky." 

"There,"  Wynne  went  on,  "the  orchestra 


1  8  &n  -Itinerant 


is  stopping.  They  've  rung  up  the  curtain. 
Don't  hold  me.  The  stage  waits,  yet  how 
can  I  go  outside  my  door  to  step  on  dead 
bodies  ?  Street  and  sidewalk  are  knee-deep 
with  them.  They  rise  and  curse  me  for  dis- 
turbing them.  I  lift  my  cane  to  strike.  It 
turns  to  a  snake,  whose  slimy  body  writhes  in 
my  hand.  Trying  to  hold  it  from  biting  me, 
my  nails  cut  my  palm  till  blood  streams  to 
drown  the  snake." 

He  awed  us  not  alone  from  having  no  con- 
trol of  his  thoughts,  but  because  there  came 
now  and  then  a  strange  influx  of.  emotion  as  if 
other  souls  passed  in  and  out  of  his  body. 

«  *  Is  this  hell  ?  "  he  groaned.  «  «  What  blank 
darkness  !  Where  am  I  ?  What  is  that  infer- 
nal music  haunting  me  through  all  space  ?  If 
I  could  only  escape  it  I  need  not  go  back  to 
earth  —  to  that  room  where  I  feel  choked, 
where  the  very  wall  paper  frets  me  with  its 
flaunting  birds  flying  to  and  fro,  mocking  my 
fettered  state.  *  Here,  here  in  the  very  den  of 
the  wolf!'  Hallo,  Benvolio,  call-boy's  hunt- 
ing you.  Romeo  's  gone  on. 

'  See  where  he  steals  — 
Locked  in  some  gloomy  covert  under  key 
Of  cautionary  silence,  with  his  arms 
Threaded,  like  these  cross-boughs,  in  sorrow's  knot.* 


Itinerant  fanse.  19 


What  is  this  dread  that  weighs  like  a  night- 
mare ?  '  I  do  not  fear  ;  like  Macbeth,  I  only 
inhabit  trembling/  *  For  one  of  them  —  she  is 
in  hell  already,  and  burns,  poor  soul  !  For  the 
other'  —  Ah!  must  I  die  here,  alone  in  the 
woods,  felled  by  a  coward,  Indian-like,  from 
behind  a  tree  ?  None  of  the  boys  will  know. 
*  I  just  now  come  from  a  whole  world  of  mad 
women  that  had  almost  —  what,  is  she  dead  ?' 
Poor  Felipa!" 

"Did  you  tell  him  her  name?"  I  asked  Volz. 

"No,"  said  he.  "Can  one  man's  madness 
be  another's  real  life?" 

"Blood  was  spilt  —  the  avenger's  wing  hov- 
ered above  my  house,"  raved  Wynne.  "What 
are  these  lights,  hundreds  of  them  —  serpent's 
eyes?  Is  it  the  audience  —  coiled,  many- 
headed  monster,  following  me  round  the  world? 
Why  do  they  hiss?  I  've  played  this  part  a 
hundred  times.  '  Taught  by  Rage,  and  Hun- 
ger, and  Despair?'  Do  they,  full-fed,  well- 
clothed,  light-hearted,  know  how  to  judge  me? 
'A  plague  on  both  your  houses!'  What  is 
that  flame?  Fire  that  consumes  my  vitals  — 
spon-ta-neous  combustion!  It  is  then  possible. 
Water!  water!" 

The  doctor  said  there  had  been  some  great 
strain  on  Wynne's  mind.  He  sank  fast, 


20  Qtn  Itinerant 


though  we  did  all  we  could.  Toward  morning 
I  turned  to  Volz  with  the  words  : 

"He  is  dead." 

The  city  missionary  was  passing  the  open 
door.  He  grimly  muttered  : 

"Better  dead  than  alive!" 

"My  God!  say  not  that!"  cried  Volz. 
"  The  nerve  which  hears  is  last  to  die.  He 
may  know  -  " 

He  faltered.  We  stood  aghast.  The  room 
grew  suddenly  familiar.  I  tore  off  a  strip 
of  the  gray  tint  on  the  walls.  Under  it 
we  found  the  old  paper  with  its  bright 
macaws. 

"Ah,  ha!"  Volz  said;  "will  you  now  deny 
my  theory  of  'far-  working?'  " 

Dazed,  I  could  barely  murmur:  "Then 
people  can  be  affected  by  it  !" 

"  Certainly,"  said  he,  "as  rubbed  glasses 
gain  electric  power." 

Within  a  week  we  sailed  —  he  for  Brazil,  I 
for  New  York. 

Several  years  after,  at  Sacramento,  Arne, 
an  artist  I  had  known  abroad,  found  me  on  the 
overland  train,  and  on  reaching  San  Francisco 
urged  me  to  go  where  he  lodged. 

"  I  am  low-spirited  here,"  he  said;  "  I  don't 
know  why." 


Itinerant  ijjonse.  21 


I  stopped  short  on  the  crowded  wharf. 
"Where  do  you  live?"  I  asked. 

"  Far  up  Market  Street/'  said  he*. 

"  What  sort  of  a  house?"  I  insisted. 

"  Oh  —  nothing  modern  —  over  a  store,"  he 
answered. 

Reassured,  I  went  with  him.  He  lived  in  a 
jumble  of  easels,  portfolios,  paint,  canvas,  bits 
of  statuary,  casts,  carvings,  foils,  red  curtains, 
Chinese  goatskins,  woodcuts,  photographs, 
sketches,  and  unfinished  pictures.  On  the 
wall  hung  a  scene  from  "  The  Wandering 
Jew,"  as  we  saw  it  at  the  Adelphi,  in  London, 
where  in  the  Arctic  regions  he  sees  visions 
foreshadowing  the  future  of  his  race.  Under 
it  was  quoted  : 

-  "All  in  my  mind  is  confused,  nor  can  I 

dissever 
The  mould  of  the  visible  world  from  the  shape  of  my 

thought  in  me  — 
The  Inward  and  Outward  are  fused,  and  through  them 

murmur  forever 

The  sorrow  whose  sound  is  the  wind  and  the  roar  of 
the  limitless  sea." 

"  Do  you  remember,"  Arne  asked,  "when 
we  saw  that  play?  Both  younger  and  more 
hopeful.  How  has  the  world  used  you?  As 
for  me,  I  have  done  nothing  since  I  came  here 


22  &n  Itinerant  iponse. 

but  that  sketch,  finished  months  ago.  I  have 
not  lost  ambition,  but  I  feel  fettered." 

"Absinthe? — opium? — tobacco?"  I  hinted. 

"  Neither/'  he  answered.  "  I  try  to  work, 
but  visions,  widely  different  from  what  I  will, 
crowd  on  me,  as  on  the  Jew  in  the  play.  Not 
the  unconscious  brain  action  all  thinkers  know, 
but  a  dictation  from  without.  No  rush  of  cre- 
ative impulses,  but  a  dragging  sense  of  some- 
thing else  I  ought  to  paint." 

"Briefly,"  I  said,  "you  are  a  *  Haunted 
Man/" 

"  Haunted  by  a  willful  design,"  said  he. 
"  I  feel  as  if  something  had  happened  some- 
where which  I  must  show." 

"  What  is  it  like?"  I  asked. 

"  I  wish  I  could  tell  you,"  he  replied.  "  But 
only  odd  bits  change  places,  like  looking  in 
a  kaleidoscope;  yet  all  cluster  around  one 
centre." 

One  day,  looking  over  his  portfolios,  I  found 
an  old  Temple  Bar,  which  he  said  he  kept  for 
this  passage — which  he  read  to  me — from  T. 
A.  Trollope's  "Artist's  Tragedy:" 

"  The  old  walls  and  ceilings  and  floors  must  be  sat- 
urated with  the  exhalations  of  human  emotions! 
These  lintels,  doorways,  and  stairs  have  become,  by 
long  use  and  homeliness,  dear  to  human  hearts,  and 


Itinerant  Ijanse.  23 


have  become  so  intimately  blended  a  portion  of  the 
mental  furniture  of  human  lives,  that  they  have  con- 
tributed their  part  to  the  formation  of  human  char- 
acters. Such  facts  and  considerations  have  gone  to 
the  fashioning  of  the  mental  habitudes  of  all  of  us.  If 
all  could  have  been  recorded!  If  emotion  had  the 
property  of  photographing  itself  on  the  surfaces  of  the 
walls  which  had  witnessed  it  !  Even  if  only  passion, 
when  translated  into  acts,  could  have  done  so  !  Ah, 
what  palimpsests!  What  deciphering  of  tangled 
records!  What  skillful  separation  of  successive 
layers  of  'passionography!'" 

"I  know  a  room,"  said  Arne,  "  thronged 
with  acts  that  elbow  me  from  my  work  and 
fill  me  with  unrest." 

I  looked  at  him  in  mute  surprise. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  went  on,  "  such  things  do 
not  interest  you." 

"No  —  yes,"  I  stammered.  "  I  have  marked 
in  traveling  how  lonely  houses  change  their 
expression  as  you  come  near,  pass,  and  leave 
them.  Some  frown,  others  smile.  The  Bible 
buildings  had  life  of  their  own  and  human  dis- 
eases; the  priests  cursed  or  blessed  them  as 
men." 

"  Houses  seem  to  remember,"  said  he. 
"  Some  rooms  oppress  us  with  a  sense  of  lives 
that  have  been  lived  in  them." 

"  That,"  I   said,  "  is  like  Draper's  theory 


24  Qtn  Itinerant 


of  shadows  on  walls  always  staying.  He 
shows  how  after  a  breath  passes  over  a  coin 
or  key,  its  spectral  outline  remains  for  months 
after  the  substance  is  removed.  But  can  the 
mist  of  circumstance  sweeping  over  us  make 
our  vacant  places  hold  any  trace  of  us?" 

"Why  not?  Who  can  deny  it?  Why  do 
you  look  at  me  so?"  he  asked. 

I  could  not  tell  him  the  sad  tale.  I  hesi- 
tated; then  said:  "  I  was  thinking  of  Volz,  a 
friend  I  had,  who  not  only  believed  in  what 
Bulwer  calls  *  a  power  akin  to  mesmerism  and 
superior  to  it,  once  called  Magic,  and  that  it 
might  reach  over  the  dead,  so  far  as  their  ex- 
perience on  earth/  but  also  in  animal  magne- 
tism from  any  distance." 

Arne  grew  queerly  excited.  "  If  Time  and 
Space  exist  but  in  our  thoughts,  why  should  it 
not  be  true?"  said  he.  "  Macdonald's  lover 
cries,  *  That  which  has  been  is,  and  the  Past 
can  never  cease.  She  is  mine,  and  I  shall  find 
her  —  what  matters  it  when,  or  where,  or 
how?'"  He  sighed,  "In  Acapulco,  a  year 
ago,  I  saw  a  woman  who  has  been  before  me 
ever  since  —  the  centre  of  the  circling,  chang- 
ing, crude  fancies  that  trouble  me." 

"  Did  you  know  her?"  I  asked. 
'  No,  nor  anything  about  her,  not  even  her 


Itinerant  ^onse.  25 


name.  It  is  like  a  spell.  I  must  paint  her 
before  anything  else,  but  I  cannot  yet  decide 
how.  I  feel  sure  she  has  played  a-  tragic  part 
in  some  life-drama." 

"  Swinburne's  queen  of  panthers/'  I  hinted. 

"  Yes.  But  I  was  not  in  love.  Love  I  must 
forego.  I  am  not  a  man  with  an  income." 

"  I  know  you  are  not  a  nincompoop!"  I 
said,  always  trying  to  change  such  themes  by 
a  jest.  I  could  not  tell  him  I  knew  a  place 
which  had  the  influence  he  talked  of.  I  could 
not  re-visit  that  house. 

Soon  after  he  told  me  he  had  begun  his 
picture,  but  would  not  show  it.  He  com- 
plained that  one  figure  kept  its  back  toward 
him.  He  worked  on  it  till  he  fell  ill.  Even 
then  he  hid  it.  "  Only  a  layer  of  passionog- 
raphy,"  he  said. 

I  grew  restless.  I  thought  his  mood  affected 
mine.  It  was  a  torment  as  well  as  a  puzzle  to 
me  that  his  whole  talk  should  be  of  the  influ- 
ence of  houses,  rooms,  even  personal  property 
that  had  known  other  owners.  Once  I  asked 
him  if  he  had  anything  like  the  brown  coat 
Sheridan  swore  drew  ill-luck  to  him. 

"Sometimes  I  think,"  he  answered,  "it  is 
this  special  brown  paint  artists  prize  which 
affects  me.  It  is  made  from  the  besc  asphal- 


26  &n  Itinerant  fonse. 

turn,  and  that  can  be  got  only  from  Egyptian 
mummy-cloths.  Very  likely  dust  of  the  mum- 
mies is  ground  in  it.  I  ought  to  feel  their  ill- 
will." 

One  day  I  went  to  Saucelito.  In  the  still 
woods  I  forgot  my  unrest  till  coming  to  the 
stream  where,  as  I  suddenly  remembered,  An- 
son  was  found  dead,  a  dread  took  me  which  I 
tried  to  lose  by  putting  into  rhyme.  Turning 
my  pockets  at  night,  I  crumpled  the  page  I 
had  written  on,  and  threw  it  on  the  floor. 

In  uneasy  sleep  I  dreamed  I  was  again  in 
Paris,  not  where  I  liked  to  recall  being,  but 
at  "Bullier's,"  and  in  war-time.  The  bald, 
spectacled  leader  of  the  orchestra,  leaning 
back,  shamming  sleep,  while  a  dancing,  stamp- 
ing, screaming  crowd  wave  tri-colored  flags, 
and  call  for  the  "  Chant  du  Depart."  Three 
thousand  voices  in  a  rushing  roar  that  makes 
the  twenty  thousand  lights  waver,  in  spas- 
modic but  steady  chorus : 

' '  Les  departs — parts — parts ! 
Les  departs — parts — parts ! 
Les  departs— parts— parts  I" 

Roused,  I  supposed  by  passing  rioters,  I  did 
not  try  to  sleep  again,  but  rose  to  write  a  letter 
for  the  early  mail.  As  I  struck  a  light  I  saw, 
smoothed  out  on  the  table,  the  wrinkled  page  I 


Itinerant  f  case.  27 


had  cast  aside.  The  ink  was  yet  wet  on  two 
lines  added  to  each  verse.  A  chill  crept  over 
me  as  I  read  : 

FOREST  MURMURS. 

Across  the  woodland  bridge  I  pass, 

And  sway  its  three  long,  narrow  planks, 
To  mark  how  gliding  waters  glass 

Bright  blossoms  doubled  ranks  on  ranks  ; 
And  how  through  tangle  of  the  ferns 
Floats  incense  from  veiled  flower-urns, 
What  would  the  babbling  brook  reveal? 
What  may  these  trembling  depths  conceal? 
Dread  secret  of  the  dense  woods,  held 
With  restless  shudders  horror-spelled! 

How  shift  the  shadows  of  the  wood, 

As  if  it  tossed  in  troubled  sleep  ! 
Strange  whispers,  vaguely  understood, 

Above,  below,  around  me  creep  ; 
While  in  the  sombre-shadowed  stream 
Great  scarlet  splashes  far  down  gleam, 
The  odd-reflected,  stately  shapes 
Of  cardinals  in  crimson  capes  ; 
Not  those  —  but  spectral  pools  of  blood 
That  stain  these  sands  through  strongest  flood? 

Like  blare  of  trumpets  through  black  nights  — 

Or  sunset  clouds  before  a  storm  — 
Are  these  red  phantom  water-sprites 

That  mock  me  with  fantastic  form  ; 
With  flitting  of  the  last  year's  bird 
Fled  ripples  that  its  low  flight  stirred  — 


28  2tn  Itinerant 


How  should  these  rushing  waters  learn 
Aught  but  the  bend  of  this  year's  fern? 
The  lonesome  wood,  with  bated  breath, 
Hints  of  a  hidden  blow  —  and  death! 

I  could  not  stay  alone.  I  ran  to  Arne's  room. 
As  I  knocked,  the  falling  of  some  light  thing 
within  made  me  think  he  was  stirring.  I  went 
in.  He  sat  in  the  moonlight,  back  to  me  before 
his  easel.  The  picture  on  it  might  be  the  one 
he  kept  secret.  I  would  not  look.  I  went  to 
his  side  and  touched  him.  He  had  been  dead 
for  hours  !  I  turned  the  unseen  canvas  to  the 
wall. 

Next  day  I  packed  and  planned  to  go  East. 
I  paid  the  landlady  not  to  send  Arne's  body  to 
the  morgue,  and  watched  it  that  night,  when 
a  sudden  memory  swept  over  me  like  a  tidal 
wave.  There  was  a  likeness  in  the  room  to 
one  where  I  had  before  watched  the  dead.  Yes 
—  there  were  the  windows,  there  the  doors  — 
just  here  stood  the  bed,  in  the  same  spot  I  sat. 
What  wildness  was  in  the  air  of  San  Francisco  ! 

To  put  such  crazy  thoughts  to  flight  I  would 
look  at  Arne's  last  work.  Yet  I  wavered,  and 
more  than  once  turned  away  after  laying  my 
hand  on  it.  At  last  I  snatched  it,  placed  it  on 
the  easel  and  lighted  the  nearest  gas-burner 
before  looking  at  it.  Then  —  great  heavens! 


Qln  Itinerant  ijjonse.  29 

How  had  this  vision  come  to  Arne?  It  was 
the  scene  where  Felipa  cursed  us.  Every  de- 
tail of  the  room  reproduced,  even  the  gay 
birds  on  the  wall-paper,  and  her  flower-pots. 
The  figures  and  faces  of  Dering  and  Volz  were 
true  as  hers,  and  in  the  figure  with  averted 
face  which  Arne  had  said  kept  its  back  to  him, 
I  knew — myself!  What  strange  insight  had 
he  gained  by  looking  at  Felipa?  It  was  like 
the  man  who  trembled  before  the  unknown 
portrait  of  the  Marquise  de  Brinvilliers. 

How  long  I  gazed  at  the  picture  I  do  not 
know.  I  heard,  without  heeding,  the  door- 
bell ring  and  steps  along  the  hall.  Voices. 
Some  one  looking  at  rooms.  The  landlady, 
saying  this  room  was  to  let,  but  unwilling  to 
show  it,  forced  to  own  its  last  tenant  lay  there 
dead.  This  seemed  no  shock  to  the  stranger. 

"Well,"  said  her  shrill  tones,  "poor  as  he 
was  he's  better  dead  than  alive!" 

The  door  opened  as  a  well-known  voice 
cried:  "My  God!  say  not  that!  The  nerve 
which  hears  is  last  to  die — " 

Volz  stood  before  me!  Awe-struck,  we 
looked  at  each  other  in  silence.  Then  he 
waved  his  hand  to  and  fro  before  his  eyes. 

"Is  this  a  dream?"  he  said.  "There," 
pointing  to  the  bed;  "you"— to  me;  "the 


30  &n  Itinerant 


same  words  —  the  very  room  !  Is  it  our 
fate?" 

I  pointed  to  the  picture  and  to  Arne.  "  The 
last  work  of  this  man,  who  thought  it  a  fancy 
sketch?" 

While  Volz  stood  dumb  and  motionless  be- 
fore it,  the  landlady  spoke  : 

"Then  you  know  the  place.  Can  you  tell 
what  ails  it?  There  have  been  suicides  in 
this  room.  No  one  prospers  in  the  house. 
My  cousin,  who  is  a  house-mover,  warned  me 
against  taking  it.  He  says  before  the  store 
was  put  under  it  here  it  stood  on  Bush  Street, 
and  before  that  on  Telegraph  Hill." 

Volz  clutched  my  arm.  "  It  is  '  The  Flying 
Dutchman'  of  a  house!"  he  cried,  and  drew 
me  fast  down  stairs  and  out  into  a  dense  fog 
which  made  the  world  seem  a  tale  that  was 
told,  blotting  out  all  but  our  two  slanting  forms, 
bent  as  by  what  poor  Wynne  would  have 
called  "a  blast  from  hell,"  hurrying  blindly 
away.  I  heard  the  voice  of  Volz  as  if  from 
afar:  "The  magnetic  man  is  a  spirit!" 


SINGED   MOTHS. 


SINGED    MOTHS.  . 


In  Yorkshire,  England,  night-moths  are  called  souls. 


Poor  moth !  thy  fate  my  own  resembles  — 
*****  * 

What  gained  we,  little  moth  ?    Thy  ashes 

Thy  one  brief  parting  pang  may  show, 
And  withering  thoughts  for  soul  that  dashes 

From  deep  to  deep  are  but  a  death  more  slow. 

—  Carlyle's  Tragedy  of  the  Night-Moth. 


KATHARINE'S  DIARY. 

June  21. — Waiting  for  Elizabeth  to-night, 
Charlotte  and  I  sat  in  silence,  unbroken  save 
by  the  slight  sounds  of  our  work. 

"  While  I  pay  court  to  a  new  '  one-eyed  des- 
pot,' I  want  to  ask  if  you  have  thought  that 
this  is  Midsummer  Eve?"  I  asked  at  last, 
with  a  scornful  laugh,  but  feeling  more  like 
crying,  as  I  stopped  the  sewing-machine  for  a 
new  needle. 

"  No,  is  it?"  Charlotte  answered,  with  a 
long  sigh,  and  soon  looking  up  from  her  desk 
to  add:  "Now  I  have  spoiled  that  sheet  of 
legal-cap!  You  made  me  think  of  our  lawn 
with  colored  lanterns,  our  lace  dresses,  wide 

33 


34  Sinpfc  iftotrjs. 


Roman  sashes,  diamonds  and  whole  pearls,  the 
kind  men  and  fond  women,  and  instead  of 
'City  and  County  of  San  Francisco,  ss.,'  I 
wrote  Strauss  waltzes  and  strawberry-ices. 
How  could  you?" 

"Well,"  said  I,  "I  had  been  thinking  all 
day  of  the  change  —  our  gloves  and  boots  too 
shabby  for  daylight,  hats  years  old,  black  silks 
that  knew  some  of  our  old  '  tea-fights  '  and 
have  to  be  court-plastered  like  beaten  pugil- 
ists, our  dread  to  see  things  wear  out  or  break 
because  not  sure  of  new  ones,  even  what 
should  pay  car-fare  kept  for  a  loaf  of  bread." 

"Our  only  caller,"  said  Charlotte,  "the 
landlady  for  her  rent.  Neither  time  nor  money 
for  books  or  papers.  Theatre,  concert,  sail, 
and  drive,  joys  for  us  no  more  than  if  we  were 
ghosts." 

"Shunned,"  said  I,  "except  for  insult,  by 
those  in  our  old  rank  of  life,  as  if  with  our 
money  went  our  culture,  wit,  sense,  and 
purity." 

"Innocent  souls,"  said  Charlotte,  "forced 
to  toil  fourteen  or  sixteen  hours  a  day,  while 
the  vile  wretch  at  San  Quentin  works  eight 
or  ten,  and  sleeps  with  no  care  for  food  or 
rent." 

"A  steady  grind  of    small  economies,"    I 


Singed  JHctljs.  35 

went  on,  "  that  are  both  comic  and  cruel  —  a 
struggle  for  ten  cents'  worth  of  flour,  one 
candle,  five  cents'  worth  of  sugar,  seventy- 
five-cent  boots,  and  twenty-five-cent  gloves." 

"Forced  to  think,"  said  Charlotte,  "of 
claims  due  the  unyielding  body,  and  forget 
there  can  be  joys  the  spirit  needs;  that  we 
ever  knew  sunrise  parties  on  horseback,  gar- 
den-shaded hammocks  at  noon,  sea-sands  at 
sunset,  or  serenades  by  moonlight." 

"In  San  Francisco,"  said  I,  "we  know 
neither  the  fire-side  glow  thrown  on  our  old 
silver-laden  side-board  in  winter,  nor  the  for- 
eign travel  of  our  summers,  nor  the  red  and 
yellow  woods  of  fall  we  saw  from  the  marble- 
terrace  overlooking  our  landscape  garden,  with 
its  lake  and  Swiss  cottage — where  the  trees 
looked  as  if  seen  through  the  stained  windows 
of  our  great  library." 

"Outdoors,"  said  she,  "we  see  only  wind- 
blown dust  or  rain;  indoors,  we  know  our 
work,  and  an  hysterical  sort  of  good  spirits." 

"Our  past  in  the  East,"  I  said,  "is  gone 
like  a  dream;  folks  treat  us  as  though  with  our 
lost  money  went  our  brains." 

"Not  all,"  said  she. 

"Only  exceptions  that  prove  the  rule,"  I 
answered 


36  Qingeir  JHotljs. 

After  another  hour  of  quiet,  Charlotte  lighted 
a  fire,  filled  the  tea-kettle,  and  spread  the 
cloth. 

"  We  will  have  a  party  supper,"  she  said. 
"Elizabeth  will  be  tired  and  hungry.  If  we 
had  flour  and  a  bit  of  suet  (I  have  nearly  for- 
gotten what  butter  is),  we  could  have  some 
griddle  cakes.  If  we  had  this  or  that,  we 
could  have  the  other.  What  will  you  have? 
—  broiled  chicken,  custard  pie,  and  citron 
cake?" 

"Oyster  soup,  quail  on  toast,  and  an  ome- 
lette soufitee,"  I  replied— 

'  If  wishes  were  horses,  beggers  might  ride ; 
If  wishes  were  fishes,  we'd  have  some  fried.'  " 

"Perhaps  Elizabeth  will  bring  something," 
said  Charlotte,  as  she  set  a  cup  of  milk  and  a 
five-cent  loaf  of  bread  on  the  table.  "She 
was  to  get  some  sewing  from  the  Wertley's — 
they  may  give  her  some  cake." 

"Don't!"  I  cried,  it  vexes  my  pride  to  take 
such  gifts — yet  I  am  so  tired  of  potatoes  and 
salt,  and  milk  and  water." 

"And  owing  for  the  potatoes  and  milk," 
said  Charlotte,  grimly;  "even  the  five  dollars 
Elizabeth  will  get  for  playing  for  the  Wert- 
ley's children's  party  ought  to  go — in  how 


Jttotljs.  37 


many  ways!  —  all  to  the  grocer,  or  for  rent, 
for  coal,  for  milk,  or  to  get  dresses  dyed,  or 
-  O  dear!  it  is  after  eleven  j  she  must 
come  soon.  Ah!  here  she  is." 

Elizabeth  came  up  stairs,  tired  and  out  of 
breath,  with  two  small  jars,  which  she  set  on 
the  table,  saying:  "More  frill  and  no  shirt! 
Pickles  and  jam  the  housekeeper  gave  me. 
Good  soul,  she  didn't  know  what  a  farce  it 
was,  that  we  had  nothing  to  eat  with  them, 
that  the  scent  of  dinner  in  houses  I  passed  go- 
ing there  to-night  made  me  feel  ill."  ! 

We  laughed,  but  our  voices  were  full  of 
tears. 

"In  the  children's  lessons,  to-day,"  said 
Elizabeth,  "  we  read  (what  I  felt  as  they  could 
not)  about  the  pagan  goddess  of  death,  '  Hel  ' 
—  in  the  realm  of  the  Cold  Storm.  Hunger 
is  her  table,  Starvation  her  knife,  Delay  her 
man,  Slowness  her  maid,  Precipice  her  thresh- 
old, Care  her  bed,  burning  Anguish  the  hang- 
ings of  her  room." 

"Oh,  don't!"  I  cried;  "the  water  boils; 
come,  we  will  play  it  is  tea  —  but  we  must 
sweeten  it  with  smiles,  as  we  have  no 
sugar." 

"  No  one  came  to  see  the  room,  I  suppose," 
said  Elizabeth,  as  we  gathered  round  the  table, 


38  0ittjg*&  Jttolljs. 

"though  I  answered  the  notice  so  quickly; 
nor  any  one  to  take  lessons." 

"No,"  said  Charlotte,  "nothing  has  hap- 
pened except  that  Biddy  has  sent  us  some  coal 
and  wood." 

"  Think  of  our  old  servant  coming  to  own 
this  house,  and  letting  us  the  upper  part — 
swelling  round  in  a  big  fur  cloak,  and  showing 
us  charity!  Bah!" 

"Never  mind,"  said  Charlotte,  "her  good 
heart  gave  her  grace  to  say  the  fairies  sent  it. 
We  are  lucky  to  have  such  a  friend  —  when  I 
have  got  word  that,  as  some  one  will  do  the 
work  cheaper,  this  is  the  last  of  my  copying." 

We  all  sighed. 

"  Elizabeth,"  said  I,  "  I  thought  Mrs.  Wert- 
ley  was  to  send  some  sewing  by  you." 

"Mrs.  Wertley,"  said  Elizabeth,  "did  not 
like  it  because  I  played  something  more  than 
dance-music  when  asked  to  by  one  of  her 
guests,  and  outshone  her  daughter.  So  I  have 
lost  my  place  as  governess." 

Charlotte  and  I  groaned. 

"Oh,  Charlotte,"  said  Elizabeth,  "haven't 
you  got  some  verses  to  read  to  us  to-night?" 

Charlotte  searched  her  papers,  and  read : 


Singefc  iftottjs.  39 


"BETTER   DAYS. 

"  What  pathos  sounds  within  the  common  phrase 
On  careless   tongues :    *  They  have   known    better 

days!' 

As  if  for  them  were  dimmed  this  sun's  gold  rays, 
The  dazzling  miracle  of  winter's  snow, 
The  festal  pomp  of  summer's  blossom  show 
Were  seen  by  them  through  veil  of  sombre  haze. 

"  God  help  poor  souls  on  whom  that  burden  lays ! 
They  walk  through  narrow,  crooked,  lonely  ways, 
Look  on  their  darkened  life  in  sore  amaze, 
To  Care  and  Sorrow  and  Regret  fast  bound, 
To  toil  and  moil  in  endless  chain-gang  round, 
And  almost  view  the  Past  as  madman's  craze. 

"  Rare  is  the  soul  that  sympathy  betrays, 
As  if  they  lose  all  claim  to  blame  or  praise, 
Or  from  their  poverty  contagion  strays. 

Chafed  raw  by  rough  and  seamy  side  of  life, 
They  stagger,  wounded,  crippled,  by  the  strife, 
And  often  lost  within  the  novel  maze. 

"  Of  all  the  blessings  that  the  soul  portrays 
When,  as  the  heart-sick  and  world-wearied  prays, 
We  shall  some  time  see  heaven's  glories  blaze. 
Naught  can  surpass  the  certainty  of  this: 
That  once  within  that  sphere  of  perfect  bliss, 
Our  thoughts  can  never  turn  to  '  better  days ' ! " 

When  Charlotte  paused,  Elizabeth  was  cry- 
ing, but  I  said:  "  We  will  have  good  times. 
You  must  not  despair.  If  you  do  not  marry,  I 


40  Singed 


will,  /do  not  mean  to  dress  St.  Catharine's 
hair  in  the  next  world,  as  the  old  saying  has 
it  that  a  maid  must!"  and  I  chanted  the  old 
prayer: 

"'A  husband,  Saint  Catharine, 
A  handsome  one,  Saint  Catharine, 
A  rich  one,  Saint  Catharine, 
A  nice  one,  Saint  Catharine, 
And  soon,  Saint  Catharine  !  '" 

"  Position  before  money,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Biddy  would  say  love  before  money," 
said  Charlotte. 

"No,"  said  I,  "money,  money,  money! 
Think  —  of  our  heartaches  and  headaches,  not 
only  the  picturesque  of  life,  but  the  comforts 
denied  us,  all  for  lack  of  money  !  I  would 
marry  the  Devil  if  he  were  rich  !  " 

"  Oh,  Katharine  !  "  they  cried. 

"I  would!  I  would!"  said  I,  striking  my 
fist  on  the  table. 

"  One  might  be  tempted,"  said  Elizabeth  to 
Charlotte,  who  nodded. 

"  There  could  be  inducements,"  said  she. 

The  clock  struck  twelve  ;  the  house  shook, 
and  the  windows  jarred. 

"  Was  that  a  shock  of  earthquake?"  Char- 
lotte asked. 

"  Only  a  blast  of  wind,"  said  Elizabeth. 


Singeir  Jflotljs.  41 

"  No,"  I  said,  "there  is  some  one  knocking 
at  the  outside  door," 

"It  is  too  late  to  open  it,"  said  Charlotte. 

"  Nonsense ! "  I  cried.  "  Bright  moonlight, 
and  three  of  us !  Let  us  all  go.  If  not  Fate 
for  one  of  us,  we  can  be  the  three  Fates  for 
him!" 

They  unwillingly  followed  me ;  but,  at  the 
last  moment,  I  shrank,  and  it  was  Elizabeth 
who  opened  the  door.  A  man  who  did  not 
look  quite  strange  to  us,  stood  on  the  steps. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said,  taking  off  his  hat; 
"  1  followed  you  from  Mrs.  Wertley's,  but  did 
not  start  in  time  to  overtake  you.  I  heard  you 
say  you  had  a  room  to  let.  Can  you  excuse 
my  coming  at  this  untimely  hour,  and  let  me 
see  it?" 

We  looked  at  each  other.  It  would  not  do 
to  lose  a  chance  of  a  lodger.  We  let  him  in. 

A  true  American,  plain,  thin,  sharp-faced, 
alert,  and  confident.  He  wanted  to  avoid  bad 
smells;  he  said  he  left  his  last  quarters  on 
that  account.  He  took  the  room,  paid  a 
month's  rent,  and  said  he  would  come  in  the 
morning. 

When  he  had  gone,  we  took  hands  and 
danced  round  our  table,  spread  with  "Duke 
Humphrey's  dinner." 


42  Singeb  ittotfya. 

"  See  what  Midsummer  Eve  has  brought 
us!"  1  cried. 

At  that  moment  the  front  door  blew  open, 
a  wild  gust  of  wind  tore  through  the  house, 
and  put  out  the  light;  and,  as  we  felt  round  in 
the  dark,  Charlotte  said : 

"  There  was  something  uncanny  about  that 
man.  I  am  sorry  he  is  coming." 

"So  am  I,"  said  Elizabeth;  "but  I  thought 
I  ought  not  to  say  so." 

"I  feel  the  same,"  I  said;  "but  is  it  not  as 
uncanny  to  be  without  money?" 

And  over  a  sputtering  candle,  burning  blue, 
we  all  nodded  at  each  other  like  so  many 
doomed  witches. 


CHARLOTTE'S  DIARY. 

August  15. — It  does  not  seem  now  that  less 
than  two  months  ago  we  were  in  despair.  Mr. 
Orne's  taking  the  room,  and  the  ease  with 
which  he  helped  us  to  work  more  fit  for  us, 
have  been  such  relief.  I  have  gone  back  to 
my  pictures,  and  Elizabeth  to  her  music. 
Katharine  picked  up  in  the  street  some  money 
for  which  no  owner  could  be  found,  that  has 
paid  half  our  debts. 

Our  handsome,  dark,  Spanish-looking  lodger, 


43 


who  tells  me  he  is  a  poor,  "devil-may-care" 
artist,  went  with  me  up  on  our  flat  roof  to- 
night, to  see  a  fine  sunset.  Strangely  far- 
sighted,  more  like  eagle  than  mart,  he  saw 
things  out  of  the  range  of  most  people's  vis- 
ion, and  told  me  of  ships  far  at  sea.  The 
great  cross  on  Lone  Mountain  stood  out  black 
against  scarlet  clouds,  while  above  stretched 
shadowy  shapes  as  of  angels. 

"It  reminds  me,"  I  said,  "of  an  ecstasy  of 
Saint  Francis  of  Assisi,  in  a  little  chapel  of 
Santa  Croce  in  Milan  —  a  cross  standing  up 
dark  and  strong  in  shade,  a  figure  in  friar's 
robes  borne  up  in  the  gloom,  as  if  floating  on 
it,  his  arms  lifted  to  arms  of  some  vision  he 
sees." 

He  gave  one  of  his  odd,  scornful  laughs'. 
"  What  could  the  vision  tell  him?"  he  asked. 

"The  angels  know  all,"  I  said. 

"Not  everything,"  he  answered;  "there 
are  three  things  they  do  not  know." 

"What  are  they?" 

"The  day  of  the  Second  Advent,  men's 
hearts,  and  the  number  of  the  elect.  Then 
they  have  no  tongues." 

I  thought  I  must  try  to  reform  this  stray- 
ing soul.  "Don't  you  remember  your  Bible?" 
I  asked. 


44 


"I  know  all  about  Job,  Jethro,  and  Balaam," 
he  answered;  "  they  studied  sorcery." 

"  This  view  changes  like  magic,"  I  said; 
"all  may  be  fog  save  where  the  sun  rises  a 
blood-red  ball  on  its  image  in  the  bay,  the  two 
a  huge  pillar  of  fire,  like  sign  and  portent;  or, 
sole  rift  at  noon,  a  sheet  of  gold  holding  the 
shipping  in  black  outlines;  or,  sky  all  blue, 
the  bay  looks  a  brook  to  be  spanned  by  foot- 
plank,  the  city  seems  of  toy-houses,  the 
Golden  Gate  a  mountain-hemmed  lake;  or 
the  city  shrunk  into  a  patch  of  black  mist, 
the  bay  is  a  great  sheet  of  quicksilver;  or, 
the  city  stretches  everywhere,  mountains  and 
bay  are  withdrawn  in  vague,  sad  distance. 
It  is  like  the  views  one  takes  in  changing  moods 
of  the  other  world." 

He  seemed  amused.  "What  do  you  know 
of  the  other  world?"  he  asked. 

"As  much  as  any  one.  What  do  you  think 
about  it?"  said  I. 

"Nothing,"  he  replied.  "Wait  till  you  go 
there  yourself.  All  that  has  been  fancied 
about  it  does  not  near  the  truth.  People  are 
much  surprised  when  they  die." 

And  he  laughed  low  and  long,  as  if  all  to 
himself,  at  some  secret  thought. 

"Angels  came  in  dreams  in  Bible-times,"  I 


Jftotljs.  45 


said.  "I  once  had  a  dream  which  was  a  great 
comfort  to  me.  I  thought  I  asked  some  one  if 
we  were  immortal  and  should  meet  our  friends. 
He  answered,  'You  ought  to  know  by  your 
own  spirit.'  " 

''Has  your  spirit  never  deceived  you?" 
asked  our  lodger;  "  does  it  not  daily  tell  you 
wrong,  for  or  against  things  you  would  do  or 
think?" 

I  sighed  to  have  to  own  how  often  my  own 
thought  had  duped  me.  What  strange  power 
this  man  has  —  like  a  baleful  star  —  to  stir 
doubt  in  my  heart  !  But  my  first  distrust  of 
him  is  gone;  instead,  he  seems  more  like  some 
one  dear  to  me  of  old.  By  a  fine  sympathy 
he  often  seems  to  know  before  I  speak  what  I 
am  about  to  say,  as  if  he  read  my  mind.  "If 
evil,  there  is  also  good  -  "  I  began. 

He  frowned.  "There  is  too  much  light!" 
he  cried,  and  we  came  indoors. 

As  I  went  down  the  stairs  I  looked  back, 
saw  his  swarthy  face  in  the  fiery  glow  of  the 
sunset,  and  saw  for  an  instant  a  wonderful 
model  for  a  picture  of  the  Prince  of  Darkness. 


46  Singcb  4Jl0tl)0. 


ELIZABETH'S  DIARY. 

August  jo. —  Our  lodger,  who  proves  a 
thorough  musician — though  he  tells  me  he  is 
heir  to  a  proud  foreign  title  —  seems  like  an 
old  friend,  now  I  am  used  to  his  odd  blonde 
beauty.  He  took  me  to-night  to  hear  Faust. 
It  was  brought  out  with  more  care  than  often 
given,  the  voices  sweet  and  well-trained,  the 
acting  good;  but  Mr.  Orne  was  restless,  and 
laughed  at  it  all;  and  it  had  not  so  vivid  a 
charm  for  me  as  before,  though  I  shuddered  at 
the  weird  warnings  that  in  the  overture,  with 
mystic  awe,  hint  all  the  tragic  love-tale. 

"Where,"  I  asked  him,  "has  the  music 
fled  when  the  instrument  is  broken?  It  seems 
like  a  soul." 

"You  do  not  know,"  he  answered,  "of  any 
hereafter  for  your  own  soul  !" 

"No,"  said  I;  "but  neither  do  we  know  all 
the  hidden  chances  for  bliss  or  woe  in  our 
lives;  that  we  do  not  know,  does  not  make 
them  less  there." 

"Swayed  by  this  music,"  he  said,  "you 
are  not  the  same  person  who  left  home.  Self 
thus  made  and  unmade  each  moment,  one  is 
but  a  drift  of  atoms,  unlikely  to  meet  again  !" 

"  Is  it  chance,  or  are  we  clock-work?"  I  said, 


Singefc  ittotljs.  47 


as  the  opera  went  on,  and  I  was  filled  with  a 
sense  of  the  folly  of  striving  against  fate. 
"  Or  are  we  ruled  by  unearthly  powers,  as 
these  instruments  are  played  upon"  and  forced 
to  yield  certain  strains? " 

"  That  is  not  for  you  to  know,"  he  said. 

"Perhaps,"  said  I,  " vibrations  from  angels' 
choirs  jar  us  like  the  atoms  of  Chladni,  into 
our  places." 

"Then  an  infernal  chorus,"  said  he,  "may 
cause  the  discord  of  awful  crimes?" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "  a  spell  from  hell.  What 
can  the  real  Mephisto  think  of  this  stage 
copy?" 

"  It  is  as  if  a  wild  bloom  tried  to  be  a  hot- 
house flower,"  he  said.  "How  would  you 
like  a  crude  mockery  of  yourself?" 

As  we  sat  there,  I  could  almost  fancy  in 
him  a  queer,  flitting  likeness  to  the  Mephis- 
topheles  before  us,  like  an  image  in  a  brook, 
shaken  and  changed  by  speaking  to  him. 

While  the  music  stirred  me  as  wind  blows  a 
leaf,  I  saw  so  many  unmoved  faces  in  the 
crowd  that  I  asked  him  :  "  Why  does  the  effect 
of  music  vary  on  different  persons?" 

"Because,"  said  he,  "in  music  the  un- 
earthly touches  the  human.  Some  have  no 
soul,  no  vital  spark  to  move — like  Tyndall's 


43  Singcfc  iUotljs. 

sensitive  flame,  which  shrinks  at  a  hiss,  thrills 
at  a  jar,  and  leaps  at  a  waltz." 

"  Music  seems  to  me,"  I  said,  "as  if  we 
heard  a  spirit  trying  to  take  bodily  shape,  but 
failing." 

"  Like  that  Mephisto  there,"  he  said;  and 
after  we  reached  home  he  still  scoffed  at  that 
singer's  make-up  and  acting. 

"  Why,  even  his  laugh,"  said  he,  "  had  not 
the  true  ring.  This  is  the  way  he  should  have 
looked  and  laughed" — and  he  donned  my 
cloak,  with  its  tasseled  hood  above  his  head 
in  grotesque  shape,  and  gave  a  wild  laugh, 
which  sent  cold  chills  over  us,  and  made 
Biddy,  passing  along  the  hall,  stop  and  cross 
herself. 

"  You  have  frightened  Biddy,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  said,  "it  is  her  own  soul 
that  scares  her." 

Then  he  brought  his  violin,  and  played  Tar- 
tini's  "Dream"  for  a  good-night — "to  make 
you  dream,"  he  told  us. 

"  How  strange  it  is,"  I  said,  "  that  dreams 
— else  forgotten — sometimes  come  back  to  us 
at  the  sound  of  music." 

"  If  they  could  only  be  brought  again  and 
finished,"  said  Katharine,  "  you  might  read  the 
letter  which  lately  came  to  you,  Charlotte." 


4Jlotl)0  49 


"What  was  that?"   he  asked,  with  keen 
interest. 
Charlotte  read  to  him  her  verses  : 

"  UNKNOWN. 

"  To  me  what  could  that  note  reveal 

Which  glimmered  through  my  dream? 

Large,  white,  with  an  unbroken  seal, 
From  whom  't  was  sent  no  gleam. 

Like  planet's  wheel  our  dreams  conceal 
Strange  hints  of  Life's  hid  scheme. 

"  Was  it  from  friend  in  distant  star? 

Or  one  on  earth,  in  sleep? 
Or  that  twin-soul  whose  path  lies  far 

From  waking  glances  sweep?' 
Or  sent  to  mar  all  joys  that  are 

Where  Dream-land  shadows  creep  r 

"  The  music-score  of  demon-band? 

Or  summons  to  witch  ball? 
Or  form  of  compact  wily  planned 

And  signed  with  mystic  scrawl, 
From  fairy-land,  or  goblin  damned, 

To  hold  my  soul  in  thrall? 

"  Did  my  good  angel  send  me  balm 

For  heart  too  ill  at  ease? 
Perhaps  a  spray  from  heavenly  palm, 

As  signal  of  release  — 
Or  tale  of  charm  in  that  fair  calm, 

To  cheer  and  give  me  peace? 


50  Singeft 


"  What  were  its  contents,  grave  or  glad 

Reply  to  all  I  ask, 
When  worn  and  weary,  baffled,  mad 

Despairing  at  Life's  task, 
I  would  have  had  the  reason  sad, 

Not  wear  its  iron  mask. 

**  Was  it  a  message  from  the  dead, 

Of  hope,  or  warning  sign  ? 
Accursed  be  whatever  led 

My  soul  from  sleep  divine  ! 
O'er  note  unread  in  that  dream  fled 

I  often  muse  and  pine  ! 

"  Do  not  open  a  letter  which  comes  in  your 
sleep,"  said  Mr.  Orne,  plainly  vexed  at  such 
nonsense  ;  "  evil  spirits  are  as  likely  to  be 
near  as  good  ones.  The  world  of  sleep  is  their 
carnival." 

Charlotte  looked  pale  and  startled.  Kath- 
arine laughed. 

"  1  do  not  need  to  dream,"  said  I.  "I  have 
other  warnings." 

"  What  sort?"  he  asked,  eagerly. 

"  Oh  —  a  little  bird  tells  me,"  1  said. 

"Take  care,"  said  he,  as  he  left  us;  "  it 
may  be  the  bird  of  the  Amazon,  the  '  Lost 
Soul'!" 


Singed  4Jl0tl)s.  51 


BIDDY   GOSSIPS. 

"Sit  down,  Mrs.  O'Shane;  I  can  talk  an' 
iron  too.  Did  ye  mind  the  gintleman  who 
wint  out  as  ye  kem  in?  He's  the  strange 
lodger.  Though  he's  been  here  since  June, 
an'  it's  now  the  middle  of  September,  he  is, 
an'  always  will  be,  the  strange  lodger.  The 
ladies  upstairs  are  all  greatly  taken  wid  him, 
but  what  they  can  like  I  can't,  thin.  Him  — 
wid  his  club-foot,  his  hair  in  two  curls  like 
horns,  his  sly,  cruel  eyes,  wid  small  whites  to 
thim,  his  foxy,  pinted  ears,  an'  claw-fingers ! 

"The  first  mornin'  he  was  here,  I  was  on 
the  front  steps,  comin'  from  market,  whin  he 
wint  out;  an'  the  sight  of  him  made  me  cross 
mysilf .  He  gave  me  a  scowl  that  was  heart- 
scaldin',  and  he  seemed  to  jist  melt  into  air 
like  a  flash,  he  was  gone  so  quick — wid  his 
flame-colored  hair  an'  whiskers,  like  the  Judas- 
beard  in  the  garden ;  his  hollow  back,  too  thin 
to  cast  a  shadow ;  an'  his  feet  of  unaven  size. 
Sure,  God's  writin'  is  plain  enough ! 

"  It  gives  me  a  turn  to  hear  his  knock,  for 
ne  '11  not  touch  the  bell.  It  is  no  work  for  thim 
to  care  for  his  room ;  he  niver  seems  to  have 
moved  anythin'.  They  wondered  why  the 
piant  died  in  tne  hangin'- basket  in  the  hall. 


52  Simjefc 


But  I  saw  him  brush  by  it  one  day  ;  it  was 
that  killed  it. 

"  Thin  he  nearly  crazes  me,  makin*  the 
wildest  music  on  his  fiddle.  It  's  always  the 
sly  lad  that  takes  to  playin'  on  that,  an* 
there  's  nothin'  plain  an'  open  about  him. 
The  three  sisters  are  charmed  wid  him  in- 
toirly.  But  the  sight  I  got  of  him  one  night 
was  enough  for  me  —  warnin'  for  anybody. 
He  had  taken  Miss  Elizabeth  to  the  theatre  ; 
an*  after  they  kem  back,  he  caught  her  opera- 
cloak,  as  it  was  slippin'  from  her  shoulders  to 
the  floor,  an'  threw  it  over  himsilf  wid  the 
pinted  hood  on  his  head,  stickin'  up  like  a 
horn.  Ugh  !  what  a  divil  he  looked  !  I 
wondered  what  was  in  his  nose  thin.  An' 
he  gave  a  screech  of  a  laugh  that  curdled  my 
blood  an'  set  my  hair  on  ind.  Sure,  he  's  one 
of  those  ye  ought  to  hate  at  sight;  an'  ye 
may  know,  if  ye  have  much  to  do  wid  'em, 
ye  will  come  to  be  ready  to  travel  many  a 
hard  mile  to  hear  the  dirt  fall  on  their  coffins. 

"  Even  the  cat  there  knows  more  than  the 
three  women  ;  grave  an'  still  as  she  is,  she 
knows  what  bad  spirits  have  power  at  Mid- 
summer Eve,  an'  that  was  the  night  the  quare 
man  kem. 

"I  tell  ye,  I  think  he's  sort  o'  bewitched 


Sittgefc  iflottys.  53 

the  sisters.  They  aven  think  they  are  wid 
him  whin  1  know  they  are  not.  One  will  be 
tellin'  me  of  goin'  to  a  concert  wid  him.  The 
same  afternoon  another  says  to  me  she  was 
walkin'  wid  him,  an'  the  other  will  speak  of 
his  bein'  wid  her  here  in  the  house !  They 
are  not  much  better  off  than  before  he  kem, 
but  they  think  they  are.  Lone,  worried 
women  take  odd  notions.  They  are  jist  out 
of  their  heads  about  him,  but  they  '11  come  to 
grief,  mind  ye.  Mind  ye,  he  who  eats  wid 
the  Divil  has  need  of  a  long  spoon !  Perhaps 
they  think  it 's  in  love  they  are,  but  it 's  not 
love.  It's  not  the  feelin'  I  had  for  Patrick, 
which  made  me  not  care  whether  he  had  cabin 
an'  pig,  or  not.  Don't  mind  me,  I  have  to 
wipe  away  the  tears  when  I  think  of  him, 
though  his  grave  is  far  away  as  Ireland  an' 
twenty-five  years  can  make  it.  But  whin  ye 
have  known  the  rale  thing,  ye  can  tell  what  is 
sham.  No,  they  are  thinkin'  of  what  they  '11 
git,  not  of  the  man. 

"  Must  ye  go?  Wait  till  I  open  the  door  for 
ye.  Stay,  do  ye  see  that  tall  figure,  a  little 
lame,  skulkin'  up  the  street  in  the  moonlight? 
Kape  on  the  other  side  of  the  way,  an'  count 
yer  beads  as  ye  go,  an'  don't  look  at  him, 
for  he  has  the  evil  eye.  Run  now,  for  he 


54  Singeb  4lt0tl)0. 

always  moves  so  quick,  I  can  think  of  nothin' 
but  what  I  once  heard  the  priest  say  in  a  ser- 
mon: 'And  I  beheld  Satan  like  lightnin'  fallin' 
from  heaven.' " 


CHARLOTTE'S  DIARY. 

September  30. — To-day  Mr.  Orne  took  me 
to  the  park  to  see  the  Victoria  Regia,  like  a 
bit  of  a  sunrise  cloud.  He  bought  me  a  bou- 
quet, but  the  heat  of  his  hand  withered  it  in 
a  moment.  He  is  so  odd — darting  here  and 
there.  I  was  speaking  of  the  flower  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  thinking  he  was  by  me,  but  sud- 
denly found  him  distant  the  whole  length  of 
the  greenhouse.  When  we  came  home,  he 
drew  the  great  lily  with  one  or  two  dashes  of 
his  pencil ;  but  though  a  true  copy,  I  thought 
the  outline  bore,  too,  an  odd  likeness  to  an 
elfin  face ;  but  he  talked  me  out  of  it. 

"  Though  Saint  Cyprian  saw  the  Devil  in  a 
flower,  you  need  not,"  he  said. 

"You  work  so  quickly,"  I  replied;  "it  makes 
me  think  of  the  Devil's  crucifix,  painted  by 
two  strokes  of  his  brush  in  the  convent  of  the 
Capuchin  friars  at  Rome.  He  did  it  for  a  soul 
bound  to  him ;  and  the  soul  was  so  struck  with 
its  heartrending  truth,  that  he  made  the  sign 
of  the  cross,  and  got  free." 


Singeb  Jttotfys.  55 

"It  is  well  known,"  he  said,  "the  Devil 
would  be  an  artist/' 

"  Is  art  an  evil  power ?"  I  asked. 

"  Doctor  Donne/'  said  he,  "  preached  be- 
fore Oliver  Cromwell  that  the  Muses  were 
damned  spirits  of  devils.  No  one  can  mark 
where  the  presence  of  evil  comes  and  goes.  It 
may  be  very  near,  and  you  not  know  it." 

I  tried  to  work  on  his  portrait,  but  in  vain. 
He  changes  so  much  with  his  moods,  and  the 
fire  of  his  eyes  is  not  to  be  copied.  The  girls 
want  to  see  it,  but  I  keep  it  screened.  To-day 
he  was  very  restless ;  told  me  secrets  of  color 
thought  to  have  been  lost  for  ages;  tossed 
over  my  portfolios  of  sketches  and  rhymes 
with  mingled  praise  and  blame.  He  found  and 
read  to  me : 

"  UNFULFILLED. 

"  The  night  was  dark  and  wet,  in  long  gone  age, 

When  Genevieve  to  mass  with  maidens  went ; 
The  gleaming  torches,  carried  by  a  page 

Through  gustvwind  and  rain,  were  quickly  spent; 
She  touched  them,  and  again  their  ruddy  glare 
Shone  on  the  pious  souls  who  wandered  there. 

'  No  fire  of  this  world  '—thus  the  legend  ran ; 
'  T  was  her  same  force  celestial  that  could  snare 
The  secret  thought  of  man ! 


56 


"  Upon  the  gilded  tomb  of  Genevieve  — 

In  church  of  Saint  Etienne  du  Mont,  the  quaint, 
With  airy  stair  from  shadowed  aisle  to  eave  — 

Behind  a  golden  grating  lies  the  saint. 
Forever  tapers  shine.    Who  buys  one  tries 
To  send  some  earnest  prayer  to  Paradise. 

Ah !  long  I  watched  its  eager,  changing  flare  — 
As  hands  raised,  palm  to  palm,  point  toward  the 
skies  — 

My  burning,  burning  prayer ! 

"  Wind-shaken,  like  my  thought  that  bold  aspired, 

It  paused,  drooped  fainting,  rose  again,  implored, 
While  I,  like  frantic  moth,  all  my  desire 

Cast  on  the  flame  that  yearningly  adored. 
Around  my  sacred  hope  this  aureole 
Became  a  steady  beacon  for  my  soul, 

And  through  long  years  of  darkness  and  despair 
Its  cheering  rays  athwart  my  care  would  roll, 
My  glowing,  glowing  prayer ! 

"  At  last,  like  smoke-wreath  poising  over  flame, 

The  shadow  of  my  hope  loomed  just  in  view, 
But  floated  off,  nor  ever  nearer  came. 

Was  it  within  my  sway  for  joy  or  rue? 
Who  shall  define  the  bounds  of  will  and  fate, 
Man's  choice,  or  hand  of  Providence  debate? 

To  lose  it  was  to  see  Hell's  lurid  flashes, 
And  Heaven  is — to  find  there,  incarnate, 
My  prayer  that  burned  to  ashes ! " 

The  strange  smile  that  curled  his  lip  made 
me  in  despair  throw  down  my  brush. 


Sittgeb  4H0U)S.  57 

"  There  the  Catholics  are  like  the  followers 
of  Confucius,"  said  he,  "who  think  what  is 
burned  rises  to  the  next  world.  Do  you  recall 
the  Devil  of  human  size  on  the  outer  gallery  of 
Notre  Dame  in  Paris?  Do  you  think  he 
watches  the  smoke  of  the  city  to  know  what 
people  want?  Eastern  tales  are  nearer  right 
that  keep  him  in  ruins  and  desert  places." 

"  Like  the  minds  he  wrecks  or  lays  waste." 

He  flashed  upon  me  a  glance  of  keen  ques- 
tion, then  bent  again  over  the  sketch-books. 
He  found  a  photograph  of  my  favorite  "  Paolo 
and  Francesca,"  falling,  falling,  forever  and 
ever,  murky  shadows  reaching  from  below  to 
engulf  them,  the  light  of  lost  Paradise  stream- 
ing from  above,  a  troop  of  filmy  forms  in  the 
background  watching. 

"  Is  it  not  the  worst  of  all  for  each  that  they 
must  both  go?"  I  asked. 

"  Would  not  their  parting  be  worse?"  said 
he.  "  No—that  is  not  hell." 

With  his  swift  pencil  he  sketched  some 
woeful  figures  looking  back — one  who  sees  his 
bosom  friend  forget  him ;  one  who  knows  his 
foe  pleased  at  his  death ;  one  who  finds  his 
secrets  come  to  the  gaze  of  the  world ;  one 
who  learns  that  the  woman  for  love  of  whom 
he  died  loves  and  regrets  him. 


58  Singed  ittotfys. 

"  Hell,"  he  said,  "  is  to  keep  the  same  pas- 
sions without  the  human  frame  in  which  to 
show  them — to  be  in  your  old  haunts  and  see 
things  going  against  your  wishes  with  no 
power  to  hinder ;  no  dropping  through  bottom- 
less pit,  no  raging  flame  could  be  worse.  What 
would  you  choose  for  heaven?" 

"  To  look  back,"  I  said,  "and  see  at  least 
one  of  my  pictures  live  on.  I  would  give  my 
soul  for  that." 

He  clasped  my  hand  as  if  to  close  a  compact, 
and,  as  the  other  arm  went  round  my  waist, 
he  said:  "But  your  own  image,  mirrored  in 
the  soul  that  loves  you,  maybe  more  lasting." 

I  felt  his  fiery  kiss  upon  my  mouth.  Be- 
wildered, I  could  have  believed  that  over  his 
shoulder  I  saw  the  figures  in  his  sketches  be- 
gin to  dance  and  jeer  at  me.  I  shrank  back. 
At  that  moment,  Katharine  and  Elizabeth  burst 
in  where  we  were,  like  jealous  sisters  in  a 
fairy  tale.  

KATHARINE'S  DIARY. 

October  15. —  I  went  with  Mr.  Orne  to  a 
ball  last  night.  The  girls  helped  me  dress, 
and  each  lent  of  her  best,  but  I  was  so  dazed 
with  the  strain  of  trying  to  look  gay,  while 
dulled  by  vain  struggle  to  feel  well,  in  our  old 


Singeir  Jflotfjs.  59 

worn  things,  that  all  the  hours  I  was  gone, 
though  I  seemed  to  see  rich  robes  of  Flanders 
lace  and  Genoa  velvet  he  had  sent  for  me  to 
wear,  yet  I  was  mindful  how  Elizabeth  had 
warned  me  of  some  carefully  darned  lace  that 
would  not  bear  a  touch,  and  Charlotte  had 
dyed  an  old  sash-ribbon,  and  painted  flowers 
over  stains,  and  we  had  all  sighed  over  the 
whole. 

But  here  I  was,  as  if  in  a  leaf  far  back  in 
the  book  of  my  life,  in  full  dress  once  more, 
whirling  with  a  rich  and  gay  escort  down  a 
long  hall  of  dancers,  the  band  playing  the 
"  Lucifer"  waltzes,  my  partner  buoying  me 
clear  of  the  crowd.  He  seems  to  know  every 
one ;  he  was  nodding  right  and  left.  1  would 
cry:  "Why,  do  you  know  him?"  "  Inti- 
mately," he  would  answer.  And  once,  as  he 
said  so,  the  voice  of  a  passing  dancer  reached 
our  ears,  and  made  us  smile:  "  The  Devil  is 
nearer  a  man  than  his  coat  or  his  shirt." 

He  slipped  on  my  finger  a  ring  set  with  an 
opal  of  occult  power  and  mystic  fire,  like  the 
lurid  light  in  his  eyes ;  and  when  I  said,  "  I 
like  'a  pearl  with  a  soul  in  it,'"  he  replied: 
"  That  is  its  very  charm  for  me — the  soul  in 
it,"  looking  at  me  as  if  he  could  will  my  very 
soul  from  me.  I  heard  people  groan  that  the 


60  Singeb  ittotlje. 

supper  was  gone,  but  he  brought  me  dainties 
in  plenty,  and  unlike  what  others  had  found. 
I  heard  him  jesting  in  many  languages  with 
this  or  that  one,  well  known  and  liked  by  all. 
He  told  me  he  had  just  made  a  fortune  in  min- 
ing stocks.  As  I  sipped  and  played  with  my 
spoon,  caught  the  witch-gleam  of  my  opal,  felt 
pleased  with  the  fine  mesh  of  my  laces,  the 
shadow  and  glow  of  my  velvet,  I  felt  that  to 
gain  all  such  spendthrift  wants  of  mine  would 
make  heaven  of  earth.  Then  the  man  went 
by  who  had  quoted  Luther.  Was  the  Devil  so 
near?  Who  was  our  strange  lodger,  who  filled 
my  mind  with  such  wild  thoughts,  like  an  evil 
planet  drawing  forth  all  the  bad  in  my  nature? 
Then  I  forgot  my  doubts  in  the  swift  whirl  of 
music  and  dance. 

As  we  stood  on  our  steps  and  he  searched 
for  his  latch-key,  I  watched  the  fire  of  my 
opal,  burning  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp  in  the 
moon-lit  dark. 

"  It  has  a  weird  life  of  its  own!"  I  cried; 
and,  fearing  my  sisters'  eyes  of  wonder  and 
envy,  "  Take  it !  "  I  said. 

"Not  without  you,"  he  answered,  bending 
over  me,  and  a  sudden,  brief  kiss  scorched  my 
lips. 

Then  the  girls,  who  had  sat  up  for  us,  and 


Singeb  iHoltya.  61 


heard  the  carriage,  had  opened  the  door  and 
swept  us  upstairs  with  them. 

I  could  have  thought  them  jealous  by  the 
way  Charlotte  cried:  "You  look  changed  in 
some  way  —  like  a  shining  spirit  against  a  dark 
cloud!"  And  Elizabeth  added  :  "It  does  not 
matter  much  about  your  dress,  after  all  !  " 

I  stood  before  our  bureau-glass.  It  showed 
me  the  darned  lace  and  dyed  ribbon  with 
which  they  had  dressed  me.  Had  I  imagined 
my  fine  things?  Perhaps  I  had  but  fancied 
the  ball,  the  lights,  and  music,  and  my  — 
lover  !  The  ring  was  gone. 

And  then  the  next  I  knew,  they  had  un- 
dressed me  and  put  me  in  bed,  and  Elizabeth 
was  cooling  my  head  with  damp  cloths,  while 
Charlotte  was  fanning  me,  and  I  heard  them 
murmur  together,  as  if  far  off.  "What  did 
she  mutter  about  a  ring  set  with  a  spark 
from  hell?  "  Elizabeth  asked.  And  Charlotte 
answered:  "  That  she  was  sealed  to  Satan  !  " 


ELIZABETH'S  DIARY. 

October 31.  —  This  afternoon,  as  I  played 
Gr6goire's  fine  "Etude  du  Diable,"  I  was 
startled  to  my  feet  by  finding  Mr.  Orne  stood 
close  behind  me  to  hear. 


62  Singefc  ifloiljs. 


''Good,  is  n't  it?"  I  asked. 

"Not  the  right  thought,"  said  he;  "listen." 
And  he  drew  from  his  violin  strains  of  dread 
meaning. 

"That  is  more  unearthly,"  I  said;  "a 
spirit  might  play  so." 

"And  a  wicked  one?"  he  answered.  "The 
Mussulman  legend  runs,  that  the  Devil  is  given 
leave  to  fill  his  spare  time  with  music,  song, 
love-poetry,  and  dancing." 

"  How  is  it  that  you  can  surpass  all  others?" 
I  asked. 

"  Because  I  have  the  will  —  the  secret  magic 
of  all  success." 

"  Teach  me,"  I  cried,  "  to  win  power,  posi- 
tion!" 

"Will  you  leave  your  sisters  without  fare- 
well," he  asked,  "  and  fly  with  me  at  twelve 
to-night,  knowing  no  more  of  where  you  go 
than  that  you  will  have  rank  and  sway  be- 
yond your  wildest  dreams?" 

He  drew  me  to  him  ;  his  burning  lips  touched 
mine.  Then  my  sisters  rushed  in,  with  that 
new,  watchful  way  of  theirs,  and  he  went 
out. 

This  evening,  as  we  sat  together  for  the  last 
time  in  our  safe,  warm,  bright  room,  with  a 
rising  storm  stirring  all  round  the  house,  I 


Bingeb  Jttotljs.  63 


could  hardly  keep  from  telling  the  girls  that  I 
was  going  abroad,  and  all  he  had  promised  me. 
Indeed,  I  did  hint  about  it,  but  they  thought  it 
only  one  of  our  old  day-dreams,  and  Katharine, 
as  if  sure  that  hers  was  coming  true,  began  to 
tell  us  how  she  should  build  her  castle.  Lean- 
ing proudly  on  the  mantelpiece,  she  looked 
statuesque,  as  if  the  petrifying  effect  of  wealth 
had  begun. 

"But  how  sad  it  is,"  she  said,  "to  think 
that  death  can  bear  me  from  it  all." 

"  My  pictures,"  said  Charlotte,  "will  live 
when  I  am  gone." 

"Position,"  said  I,  "may  be  prized  even 
then,  if  we  can  look  back." 

"  Yees  can  take  nothin  wia  ye,"  said 
Biddy,  who  had  come  in  unheard,  "  but 
love." 

We  all  started,  and  then  laughed  in  scorn. 

"  Sure,  the  priest  was  tellin'  only  last  Sun- 
day," said  she,  "  how  Saint  Theresa  could  say 
nothing  worse  of  the  Divil  than  '  Poor  wretch, 
he  loves  not/  Her  notion  of  hell  was  that  no 
love  was  there.  But  love  is  all  we  're  sure  of 
in  heaven." 

"Biddy,  have  you  come  to  preach  a  ser- 
mon?" I  asked. 

"No,   I  beg   yer  pardon.     'Tis  All  Souls" 


64  Singefc  ifloirja. 

Eve,  and  I  thought  maybe  yees  would  come 
to  vespers  to-night.  The  music  '11  be  fine." 

For  a  moment  we  thought  of  going.  I  half 
rose;  Katharine  went  a  step  or  two  toward 
the  door ;  Charlotte  left  her  seat.  Was  it  the 
unfelt  wind  which  blows  us  on  the  shoals  of 
destiny  which  drove  us  back  ? 

"Not  now,  Biddy,"  said  I;  "some  other 
time.  To-night  Charlotte  is,  at  last,  going  to 
let  us  see  her  portrait  of  our  lodger.  Don't 
you  want  to  wait  and  see  it?" 

Charlotte  placed  it  where  we  could  view  it 
in  the  long  glass,  which  had  lights  around  it, 
"  like  a  shrine,"  Biddy  said,  as  if  she  did  not 
like  it. 

As  Charlotte  unveiled  it,  Katharine  and  I 
cried,  in  surprise :  "  This  is  not  his  likeness !  " 

And  Biddy,  laughing,  said:  "  Not  a  bit,  not 
a  bit  like  him!" 

"It  is  not  only  better-looking,  but  it  is 
another  man,"  said  I ;  "there  is  no  Spanish 
knight  about  him." 

"No,  indeed,"  said  Katharine;  "the  true 
type  of  an  American  I  call  him." 

"Why  no,"  said  I;  "he  is  a  pure  German 
blonde." 

Biddy  heard,  half-grinning,  half-frowning. 
"  Oh,  yees  are  all  bewitched,  an'  'tis  Allhal- 


JHotljs.  65 


lows  Eve,"  she  said;  "  come  to  the  holy 
vespers,  do." 

But  we  laughed  and  sent  her  off  ;  and  when 
she  had  gone  Mr.  Orne  suddenly  stood  in  the 
door,  as  if  he  had  sprung  through  the  floor, 
and  paused,  looking  at  his  picture. 

"  Come  and  tell  us,"  cried  Katharine,  "  how 
is  it  that  Charlotte  could  paint  you  in  this 
way?" 

"  No  two  persons  see  alike,"  he  said. 
"One  seems  to  different  people  to  have  as 
many  characters,  perhaps  as  many  aspects. 
How  few  agree  when  speaking  of  any  one  !  " 

"But  this,"  said  Katharine,  "has  not  your 
mouth;  and  you  are  neither  light  nor  dark." 

"  But  this,"  said  I,  "  has  not  your  chin,  nor 
your  fair  hair." 

"  But  this,"  said  Charlotte,  "  has  your  dark 
curls.  It  is  just  like  you,  except  the  eyes, 
perhaps." 

Then  we  all  stared  wildly  at  each  other. 

"But  this,"  said  Biddy,  glancing  in,  with 
her  bonnet  on,  "is  All  Souls'  Eve,  if  yees 
would  only  come." 

"Where?"  cried  Mr.  Orne,  in  a  voice  of 
scorn.  But,  seeing  him,  she  fled  like  light- 
ning, and  the  outer  door  echoed  like  thunder 
after  her. 


66 


He  soon  followed.  "But  not  to  vespers," 
he  said,  laughing. 

Katharine,  Charlotte,  and  I  wrangled  over 
the  picture  till  Charlotte  screened  and  put  it 
by,  and  sat  at  her  desk  to  rhyme  ;  while  I,  at 
the  piano,  with  precious  minor  keys,  unlocked 
the  inner  gates  of  the  realm  of  musing,  and 
Katharine  sat  with  open  book  on  lap,  but  look- 
ing in  the  fire.  Hours  went  by  with  no  word 
between  us.  We  did  not  heed  when  Biddy 
came  home,  nor  know  when  Mr.  Orne  passed 
through  the  door,  but  found  him  with  us  again. 

"This  is  a  fine  gale,"  he  said.  "Bodies 
may  be  housed,  but  think  of  flitting  souls  go- 
ing out  into  such  a  night." 

"  Is  it  the  wind  and  storm,"  cried  Charlotte, 
"which  set  me  to  writing  this?"  And,  while 
the  winds  tore  round  the  house  in  a  witches' 
dance  she  read  to  us  : 

"AFTER    DEATH. 

"  All  through  the  unseen  realm  of  air  I  float; 
The  souls  that,  passing,  mount  to  God,  I  note  ; 
Each  flashing  through  the  void  like  fiery  mote 
By  fierce  wind  blown. 

"  Death  makes  an  anvil  of  our  pigmy  world, 
And   drives   these    sparks  —  these    spirits    upward 

whirled  — 

That  glimmer  on  till  all  the  dark  is  furled, 
Before  the  throne  ! 


JHotljs.  67 


"  I  would  look  back  and  linger,  linger  yet— 
What  can  I  feel  but  passionate  regret? 
When  I  remember  thy  dear  eyelids  wet, 
What  shall  atone?  * 

"  But,  borne  by  some  resistless  force,  I  go 
To  learn  what  but  immortal  spirits  know  — 
Or  faint  and  fading  into  darkness  flow  — 
Dread  path  unknown  ! 

"  The  earth  becomes  a  distant  waning  star. 
What  !  is  this  all  ?    A  memory  floating  far  ; 
My  conscience  for  the  dreaded  judgment  bar  ; 
And  this  alone?" 

In  the  shadowed  chimney-corner  Mr.  Orne 
nearly  went  out  of  sight  as  she  read.  He 
seemed  coming  and  going  by  the  flickering  fire 
as  she  paused  or  went  on  ;  and,  at  the  end, 
I  thought  he  had  left  the  room  ;  but  a  sudden 
glow  of  the  fire  showed  that  there  he  sat. 
Then  he  added  some  verses,  while  Katharine's 
book  —  "  Footfalls  on  the  Boundaries  of  Another 
World"  —  slid  to  the  floor,  as  she  bent  toward 
pictures  in  the  fire  ;  Charlotte  leaned  on  her 
desk,  with  her  face  in  her  hands  ;  and  I,  drift- 
ing off  in  a  dream-skiff,  trailed  my  hands 
through  a  rippling  tide  of  music. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  read  to  us  : 

"  No  dazzling  ranks  of  angels'  choirs  appear, 
Nor  bands  of  wailing  spirits  damned  are  here, 
A  merely  silent,  lonely,  misty  sphere 
Forever  shown, 


68 


"  Where  darts  that  restless  flame,  my  naked  soul. 
But  sometimes  yet  at  thy  fond  thought's  control 
I  can  return,  thy  faithful  heart  my  goal, 
My  Love,  my  Own  ! 

"  Know  at  thy  tears  I  tremble,  almost  wane, 
Thy  sighs  revive  my  smouldering  fire  again, 
The  best  of  life,  our  love,  may  yet  remain, 
Eternal  grown. 

"  But  if  thou  canst  forget,  my  light  will  pale, 
When  no  regret  of  thine  seeks  my  lost  trail, 
Then,  only  then,  within  dim  depths  I  fail, 
Expire,  alone  !  " 

I  roused  from  my  rapt  gaze  at  him  to  find 
Charlotte  and  Katharine  looking  at  him  as  in- 
tently as  if  they,  with  their  sudden  jealousy, 
fancied  the  lines  meant  for  them.  The  winds 
howled  and  shook  the  house,  the  rain  beat 
against  the  pane,  Mr.  Orne,  uneasy,  too, 
walked  up  and  down  the  long  room,  and  his 
deep,  rich  voice,  a  cordial  that  warmed  the 
ear,  broke  forth  in  "  King  Death  is  a  rare  old 
fellow!"  He  paused  after  one  verse  before 
Katharine.  "Even  Money  is  powerless  before 
him,"  said  he. 

He  stopped  after  the  next  verse  by  Char- 
lotte. "  Yet  Death  may  be  foiled  by  Fame," 
he  said. 

As  he  came  near  me  at  another  verse,  he 


Singeb  itlotlja.  69 

said:  "On  a  level  with  all  at  the  touch  of 
'his  yellow  hand.'" 

We  heard  his  voice  die  away  in  the  distance 
in  the  ghostly  old  song  about  King  Death.  By 
the  queer,  subtile  sway  of  one  spirit  over 
another,  my  sisters  seemed  to  feel  that  parting 
was  near.  They  could  not  have  acted  other- 
wise if  either  of  them  thought  of  going. 

"Good-night,  girls,"  said  Charlotte,  start- 
ing, but  coming  back  to  kiss  us.  "  Perhaps  I 
should  say  good-by.  'Who  has  seen  to- 
morrow?'" 

Soon  after,  Katharine  rose.  "  Good-night," 
she  said,  kissing  me,  "and  good-by — till  we 
meet  again." 

1  sit  here  alone,  writing.  I  have  listened  to 
the  vanishing  sound  of  her  footsteps;  I  am 
tempted  to  call  them  back.  But  it  is  on  the 
stroke  of  twelve.  The  storm  rages  still  more 
wildly;  an  awful  night  to  be  out.  What  a 
surprise  is  in  store  for  my  sisters !  When  I 
next  see  them,  how  strange  will  be  our  meet- 
ing!   

BIDDY  GOSSIPS  AGAIN. 

"Sure,  an'  it's  kind  of  ye,  Mrs.  O'Shane, 
to  come  in  this  pourin'  rain  to-night.  Give  me 
the  umbrill,  an'  sit  ye  down  by  the  fire.  Yes, 


70  Singeir  Jftottys. 

it  has  stormed  night  an'  day  for  a  week  —  ever 
since  Allhallows  Eve,  heaven  save  us  1 

"  Tell  ye  all  about  it?  Oh,  they  got  worse 
an*  worse — all  three  wild  in  love  wid  him,  an7 
that  jealous  they  did  n't  want  one  of  them  to 
be  alone  wid  him.  Now,  he  was  all  wrapped 
up  in  Miss  Elizabeth,  playing  duets  wid  his 
witch  of  a  fiddle,  showin'  her  how  to  write 
music,  an'  talkin'  of  his  high  rank  at  home ; 
then  jist  the  same  wid  Miss  Charlotte,  teach- 
in*  her  how  to  mix  colors,  an'  touchin'  up  her 
pictures,  an'  tellin'  her  she  was  a  wonder,  an' 
folks  wouldn't  forget  her,  an'  writin'  verses 
wid  her ;  an'  jist  as  deep  wid  Miss  Katharine, 
plannin'  how  she  was  to  make  her  fortune  in 
no  time,  an'  always  showin'  off  in  some  way 
how  rich  he  was. 

"  How  did  I  know  his  ways  so  well?  Did  n't 
I  use  to  be  goin'  through  the  hall  quite  care- 
less, an'  hear  it  all?  Ye  may  learn  a  good 
dale  that  way,  by  niver  hurryin'  yourself. 
Many's  the  time  he  nearly  caught  me,  but  I 
got  into  the  dark  corner,  wid  my  apron  over 
my  head,  quakin'  as  he  went  by.  But  at  last 
he  got  a  dog — an  awful  big,  black  crater,  wid 
eyes  like  coals,  an'  I  had  to  kape  down  here. 

"  I  did  talk  to  thim.  I  could  n't  make  thim 
see  him  as  I  did,  try  as  much  as  I  would.  Ye 


Singeb  Jttotljs.  71 

might  as  well  warn  water  not  to  run  down  hill. 
An*  he  windin'  round  thim  like  a  snake,  I 
used  to  think.  May  the  holy  saints  kape  us ! 
Is  that  only  the  shutters  knockiri'?  Let  us 
say  a  prayer  or  two.  It  makes  me  shake  to 
think  of  him  now. 

"About  the  mornin'  after  All  Souls'  Eve,  is 
it?  Listen  to  this,  thin:  His  sketches  an' 
verses  they  thought  so  much  of  had  turned  to 
black  paper!  They  each  had  his  picture, 
they  called  it,  but  neither  one  looked  like  him, 
an'  that  mornin'  they  had  sunk  to  a  little  heap 
of  ashes  under  where  they  had  hung!  An' 
Miss  Elizabeth's  portrait  of  him  was  never  as 
she  thought  she  left  it,  nor  as  her  sisters 
thought  it  looked,  but  it  was  like  him  as  I  saw 
him,  only  it  had  no  eyes ! 

"  If  ye' 11  believe  it  each  one  showed  me 
that  night  a  fine  necklace  the  strange  man  had 
given  her,  a  secret  from  the  others.  It  was 
good  as  a  play  to  see  them  comin',  one  after 
the  other,  on  the  same  errand.  Poor  dears ! 
Bless  us  and  save  us ! — don't  move  your  chair 
with  such  a  sudden  noise,  it  makes  me  jump ; 
an'  don't  kape  lookin'  behind  ye !  Miss  Char- 
lotte's was  coral,  all  carved  into  little  imps ; 
Miss  Elizabeth's  was  like  great  coals  of  fire — 
carbuncles,  she  said  'twas;  an'  Miss  Kath- 


72  Singeb 


arine's  was  like  little  red  sparks  —  rubies,  she 
called  them,  an*  said  it  must  have  cost  a  great 
deal  of  money.  But  next  mornin'  their  bureau 
drawers,  where  they  kept  their  fine  things, 
held  no  necklaces  —  nothin'  but  a  heap  of  dead 
leaves,  an*  dust,  an*  pebbles  ! 

"  No,  it  was  only  a  red  line  round  the  throat 
each  wore  for  a  chain  at  daylight.  Dead, 
then?  Dead  as  Pharaoh! 

"Yes,  he  was  gone,  an*  they  will  not  find 
him,  either;  though  the  police  an'  reporters 
call  me  a  crazy  old  woman  to  doubt  it,  but  I'm 
sure  they'll  have  their  trouble  for  their  pains. 
Where  is  he?  The  Divil  knows  !  " 


A  STRAY  REVELER. 


A  STRAY  REVELER. 

The    Picture    Which    Was   a   Prophecy. 


'  Who  hath  known  the  ways  and  the  wrath, 
The  sleepless  spirit,  the  root 
And  blossom  of  evil  will?" 


"  Which  is  the  room,  and  which  is  the  pic- 
ture?" 1  asked  my  friend  Aura,  when  she 
received  me  after  my  long  absence  abroad, 
during  which  I  heard  she  had  fallen  heir  to  a 
fortune,  but  found  her  looking  pinched  and 
wan. 

The  picture  filled  nearly  one  side  of  the 
room,  which  was  arranged  as  an  exact  copy 
of  it,  even  having  a  lattice-window  opening 
lengthwise,  put  in  to  match  the  painted  one. 
Carpet,  Navajo  rugs,  chairs,  tables,  draperies 
were  alike.  A  strip  of  carpet  hid  the  lower 
part  of  the  frame,  so  that  one  might  fancy  he 
saw  double  parlors  instead  of  one  room  and 
a  painting.  The  screen  in  the  room  stood  at 
just  such  an  angle  as  just  such  a  screen  stood 

75 


76  &  Strag  Reveler. 

in  the  painted  scene.  Tall  Japanese  vases, 
low  bookcase,  hanging  shelves  filled  with 
rare,  odd  trifles,  were  all  thus  doubled. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  seeing  me  glance  to  and 
fro,  "  I  felt  impelled  to  copy  everything  painted 
there,  and  to  banish  all  my  room  held  before. 
That  knotted  rope  under  glass  on  the  mantel? 
Well,  no;  that  was  neither  in  the  picture  nor 
here,  till  now ;  the  fact  is,  I  hold  the  property 
Penniel  left  me  only  by  keeping  that  there. 
Two  of  his  friends,  Dacre  and  Chartram,  re- 
ceived bequests  on  condition  of  calling  here 
unexpectedly  at  irregular  intervals  to  see  that 
I  let  it  remain  always  in  my  sight." 

"I  don't  like  it  there." 

"  Nor  I;  but  there  is  nothing  puzzling  about 
it  as  about  the  picture,  finished  just  before 
he — he  died.  That  is  a  legacy  I  have  often 
pondered  over.  Why  did  he  call  it  prophetic? 
I  always  wonder  where  the  window  in  it  looks, 
and  that  inner  door  ajar,  showing  a  banquet- 
scene.  Is  it  a  Christmas  revel?" 

"  One  of  the  female  figures  resembles  you — 
why,  it  is  meant  for  you ! " 

" Don't,  don't  say  so!  It  makes  me  un- 
easy, and  angry,  too;  for  I  will  not  believe  in 
the  *  mystic*  nonsense  of  his  scribbling,  paint- 
ing, and  acting  tribe." 


Bender.  77 


"  Yet  you  always  let  them  hang  round 
you." 

"Because  they  are  amusing,  often  hand- 
some, and  sometimes  have  money.  But  few 
come  now,  except  Chartram  and  Dacre,  in 
their  uncertain  visits.  I  am  no  longer  gay 
enough  company." 

"  Pshaw!  as  if  the  influence  of  one  who  is 
dead  could  thus  last!" 

"If  not,  how  could  there  be  so  many  true 
tales  of  curses  which  have  followed  individuals 
or  families  through  generation  after  genera- 
tion. I  never  used  to  believe  any  such  thing. 
I  am  forced  to  keep  the  picture  under  the 
terms  of  Penniel's  will,  and  I  cannot  help 
studying  it." 

"Did  Penniel  paint  it?" 

"  Yes.  He  put  me  in  that  festive  scene 
because  I  am  yet  alive.  He  once  spoke  of 
ghosts  as  stray  revelers  after  life's  banquet. 
The  vacant  seat  beside  me  was  to  signify 
his  absence.  'Not  eternal,'  he  wrote;  M 
shall  come  back  when  you  least  expect 
it.'" 

"You  make  me  shiver.  Let  us  talk  of 
other  things.  What  a  pretty  inlaid  table  — 
wild  -fowl  flying  over  a  marsh  —  isn't  it? 
Ah!  it  is  just  like  that  one  in  the  picture, 


78  &  Stras 


even  to  a  manuscript  lying  upon  it  spread 
open  under  a  horseshoe  paper-weight." 

"You  see,"  said  Aura,  "one  drifts  inevit- 
ably to  that  painting.  What  the  manuscript 
there  represents  I  have  often  asked  myself. 
The  one  beside  you,  Dacre  wrote.  Read  it." 

It  was  : 

"A  FLIGHT  OF  FANCY. 

"  In  single  file  wild-ducks  drift  by. 

Dyed  red  by  western  glow. 
Belated  swallows  lonely  fly, 
And  strange  birds  trooping  go. 

"  Though  flown  from  forest-pine  remote, 

Or  from  near  orchard-pear, 
Along  the  water-depths  they  float, 
As  on  the  heights  of  air. 

"  The  lake,  with  mirror-surface  spread, 

Bronzed  by  the  day's  bright  close, 
To  each  wayfarer  overhead, 
A  shadowy  double  shows. 

"Ah  !  thus  reflected  in  my  soul 

What  flitting  thoughts  will  stray 
From  hidden  source  —  ancestors'  dole, 
Or  sunshine  of  my  day. 

"  Fantastic  shapes  that,  circling,  throng, 

Some  charming,  some  unblest  ; 
I  snare  one  in  this  fragile  song, 
I  cannot  count  the  rest." 


Eeueier.  79 


I  made  another  effort  to  divert  her  mind. 
"  What  is  behind  your  lovely  screen?"  I  asked. 

"  Nothing.  What  is  behind  that  one?"  she 
asked,  pointing  to  the  pictured  one.  "  That 
question  haunts  me  like  the  indefinite  meaning 
of  some  passage  in  Browning  or  Rossetti." 

"  What  have  you  learned  by  your  study  of 
it?" 

"What  do  you  discover  by  examining  that 
screen  near  you?" 

"  Masses  of  interwoven  flowers  with  trailing 
vines  and  lights  and  shadows  athwart  the 
whole.  Who  painted  it?" 

"Chartram;  and  while  he  was  doing  it  he 
and  I  suddenly  detected  amid  those  apparently 
random  dashes  of  color  eleven  letters.  Look 
again  —  begin  at  the  lower  left-hand  corner  and 
cross  diagonally  —  here  are  lilies  of  the  valley, 
then  eschscholtzias,  a  branch  of  xanthoxylum 
fraxineum,  tuberoses,  azalias,  lobelia,  iris- 
lilies,  oleander  blossoms,  Neapolitan  violets, 
ixia-lilies,  and  stephanotis  flowers." 

"Well?" 

"Don't  you  see?  Two  words  not  merely 
spelled  by  the  first  letter  of  the  plants'  names, 
as  the  old-fashioned  '  regard  '  rings  were  set 
with  ruby,  emerald,  garnet,  amethyst,  ruby, 
and  diamond,  but  by  looking  carefully  you  can 


8o  <3t 


discern,  in  the  seemingly  careless  spray  or 
cluster,  the  letter  in  indistinct  and  fanciful 
form." 

As  she  spoke  and  I  gazed  at  the  screen,  I  was 
surprised  to  distinguish  so  plainly  now  the 
words,  Lextalionis!  so  skillfully  placed  as  to 
elude  a  careless  glance.  "The  law  of  re- 
venge!" I  cried.  "Was  this  more  of  your 
old  coquetries?" 

"  No  ;  I  did  not  tire  of  Penniel  as  usual.  He 
had  one  charm  all  my  other  lovers  had  lacked  : 
a  stronger  will  than  mine." 

I  looked  at  her  inquiringly. 

"When  you  went  away  you  remember 
I  was  starving  —  genteelly  starving.  I  met 
Penniel;  he  was  engaged  to  an  heiress,  i 
reasoned  with  myself  that  she  did  not  need  his 
money  as  I  did.  I  used  every  art  to  win  him 
from  her." 

"Oh,  Aura!" 

"I  did,  I  did  !  I  may  own  it  now,  since  both 
are  dead." 

"Both?" 

"  Yes;  he  broke  the  engagement  on  account 
of  something  I  told  him  about  her.  She  died 
soon  after,  some  say  broken-hearted;  but,  of 
course,  we  know  that  is  a  mere  phrase.  I  pre- 
sume she  got  a  cold,  or  something." 


Straj)  Easier.  81 


"And  your  refusal  of  him  killed  him  ?  " 
"No;  I  accepted  him.  All  went  well  until 
one  night  we  went  on  horseback  with  a  party 
of  friends,  on  a  moonlight  trip  to*  the  Cliff 
House.  While  there,  he  overheard  me  own 
my  worship  for  money.  'Not  marry  for  it  ?  ' 
I  said.  '  It  is  a  woman's  duty.1  And  he  met 
there  that  night  some  old  friend  who  completely 
disproved  all  I  had  told  him  about  Helen  Roth- 
say,  the  girl  who  died.  Oh,  how  angry  he  was! 
—  his  eyes  were  lurid,  he  never  spoke  to  me 
again.  Next  day  he  sent  back  to  me  these 
verses  he  had  found  that  Dacre  had  written  for 
me  to  give  him  as  mine,  though  you  know 
there  is  nothing  nonsensical  about  me." 
She  gave  me  to  read  a 

"VILLANELLE. 

"What  clouds  of  laughing  little  Loves  arise  — 
On  buoyant  wing  are  all  about  me  blown  ! 
I  dream  within  the  night  of  his  dark  eyes. 

"  How  blest  to  be,  though  but  in  flower  guise, 

Worn  on  his  heart  until  my  life  were  flown  ! 
What  clouds  of  laughing  little  Loves  arise  ! 

'*  Forgotten  is  the  sun,  to-day's  blue  skies, 

I  know  nor  time  nor  space  nor  any  zone  ; 
I  dream  within  the  night  of  his  dark  eyes  — 


82  Qt  Strag 


"By  fancied  blisses  borne  to  Paradise, 

Like  some  translated  saint  that  Art  has  shown. 
What  clouds  of  laughing  little  Loves  arise  ! 

"Such  lotos-eating  lures  until  one  dies, 

No  poppy-petals  such  nepenthe  own  ; 
I  dream  within  the  night  of  his  dark  eyes. 

"For  him  my  passion  waxes  crescent-wise  ; 

Will  wind  and  tide  of  Fate  its  sway  disown? 
What  clouds  of  laughing  little  Loves  arise  ! 
I  dream  within  the  night  of  his  dark  eyes." 

"  He  also  sent  me  a  letter  telling  me  of  these 
discoveries  and  taking  leave.  '  1  shall  avenge 
Helen's  wrongs,'  he  wrote,  '  I  shall  avenge  my 
own  wrongs,  but  in  my  own  time  and  in  my 
own  way.  You  shall  suffer  for  what  you  have 
done,  if  I  have  to  come  back  from  the  next 
world  to  make  you.  Poor  or  rich,  old  or  young, 
sad  or  gay,  remember  that  I  have  not  forgot- 
ten.'" 

"He  died  soon  after?" 

"Yes;  in  a  year  and  a  day  from  the  time  we 
first  met,  which  was  Christmas  Eve." 

Company  came,  and  I  could  hear  no  more. 

Two  weeks  later,  on  Christmas  Eve,  Aura 
sent  for  me.  I  found  her  in  the  same  room, 
looking  thinner  and  more  depressed,  and  study- 
ing the  painting. 

"  Don't!"  I  said;  "you  will  dream  of  it." 


Strag  Beoeler.  83 


"  I  did.  1  have  been  in  the  picture,  gathered 
a  leaf  from  that  graceful  clump  of  ferns  grow- 
ing in  the  odd  jar,  sat  in  that  antique  chair, 
and  looked  from  that  open  window/' 

I  could  not  understand  my  hitherto  matter- 
of-fact  friend.  "  What  did  you  see?'  I  asked. 

"  The  same  grand  sunrise  that  thrilled  us, 
Penniel,  Dacre,  Chartram,  and  I,  as  we  re- 
turned from  a  New  Year's  Eve  ball.  A  sunrise 
Penniel  wrote  about." 

She  showed  me  these  lines  : 

"A   NEW-YEAR'S   DAWN. 

"Through  fog  that  veils  both  sky  and  bay  there  gleam 

The  sun  and  wraith,  red  glowing  ; 
So  interblended  that  one  flame  they  seem 
As  if  dread  portent  showing. 

"Where  will  it  lead  us  through  the  year  untried, 

Through  what  vast  desert  places, 
Vague  tracts  of  time  whose  misty  margins  glide 
Within  eternal  spaces? 

"I,  weary  pilgrim  in  Life's  caravan, 

That  pillared  fire  must  follow 
Past  pyramid  and  sphinx  of  Doubt  and  Ban, 
Mirage  of  Hope,  how  hollow  ! 

"Palm-shaded  wells  of  joy,  too  far  apart, 

Long  leagues  through  changeful  weather, 
Unless  that  foe  in  ambush,  my  own  heart, 
Leaps,  and  we  fall  together  !  " 


84  &  Strajj 


"  What  else  happened?"  I  asked. 

"  Nothing.  I  was  dimly  conscious  of  coming 
from  that  room  into  this.  I  want  to  stay  here. 
Tell  me  about  your  travels,  and  divert  me." 

I  talked  to  her  a  long  while  ;  then  she  brewed 
rich  chocolate,  which  we  sipped  as  we  sat 
silently  listening  to  the  sounds  of  mirth  from  a 
party  given  by  boarders  in  the  opposite  room, 
listening  to  the  fog-horn  and  the  wind,  till 
drowsiness  stole  over  us  insensibly  as  the  fog 
crept  round  the  house,  as  if  forming  an  im- 
palpable barrier  around  a  region  enchanted. 

Suddenly  Aura  started  out  of  her  doze  with 
a  piercing  cry,  and  sat  trembling  from  head  to 
foot.  "I  have  been  there  again,"  she  said. 

"  You  have  not  left  your  chair."  I  mur- 
mured, half-awake;  "  you  dropped  asleep." 

"  Perhaps  you  think  so  ;  but  I  have  been  in 
the  picture."  She  shuddered  as  she  turned 
her  head  to  look  at  it.  "  There  were  two 
vacant  places  at  the  table.  I  no  longer  sat 
there,  but  wandered  about  the  outer  room 
while  the  guests  at  supper  were  watching  and 
whispering  and  pointing,  and  a  murmur  of 
'Lex  lalionis  !  '  ran  from  mouth  to  mouth.  I 
felt  that  some  horror  waited  for  me  and  drew 
me  to  that  screen,  but  I  tried  not  to  go.  I 
went  to  the  window,  but  the  view  was  changed 


Strug  Eetieler.  85 


to  the  blackness  of  midnight.  I  looked  in  the 
mirror,  yet  saw  nothing  reflected  but  the  room 
behind  me.  I  was  not  to  be  seen.  I  noticed 
the  perfume  of  the  flowers  in  the  "bouquet  on 
the  table.  I  saw  this  room,  with  our  figures 
sitting  before  the  fire,  with  our  chocolate-tray 
between  us,  as  a  picture  on  the  wall  of  that 
room.  I  took  the  manuscript  from  the  table, 
and  found  it  to  be  verses,  as  we  thought.  I 
can  repeat  them  : 

BALLADE  OF  THE  SEA  OF  SLEEP. 

When  from  far  headland  of  the  Night  I  slip, 

What  potent  force  within  the  rising  tide 
Bears  me  resistless  as  the  billows  dip, 

To  meet  their  shifting  wonders,  eager-eyed, 
Or  float,  half-conscious  what  stars  watch  me  glide, 

To  fear  when  nightmare  monster's  weight  o'erpowers, 
Or  laugh  with  nymphs  and  mermen  in  their  bowers  — 

Through  blinding  tempest  toss  on  breakers  steep, 
Or  fall  for  countless  fathoms  past  what  lowers 

Below  the  dream  waves  of  the  sea  of  Sleep  ! 

I  trace,  with  sails  all  set,  the  unbuilt  ship, 

And  sunken  treasure,  ere  the  waves  subside  ; 
Find  here  the  wrecked  craft  making  phantom  trip  ; 

Define  the  misty  bounds  :  upon  this  side, 
The  mighty  mountains  of  the  Dark  abide  ; 

On  that,  the  realms  of  Light  expand  like  flowers; 
There,  'tis  the  rocky  coast  of  Death  that  towers  ; 

Here,  on  the  shoals,  Life  must  its  lighthouse  keep. 
Who  is  it  that  vague  terror  thus  empowers 

Below  the  dream-waves  of  the  sea  of  Sleep? 


86  Qt  0traj>  fteueier. 

On  shore  all  day  I  find  slight  fellowship, 

But  in  those  surges  fain  would  plunge  and  hide  : 
Those  depths  hold  joys  that  none  above  outstrip. 

Perchance  —  I  cannot  choose  what  shall  betide  — 
Friend  flown  afar  I  clasp,  dread  foe  deride, 

Forget  that  sorrow  all  my  heart  devours, 
Avenge  the  wrongs  that  Fate  upon  me  showers. 

Not  my  control  can  lift  the  tide  at  neap, 
Nor  quell  its  rise.    Who  thus  my  will  deflours 

Below  the  dream-waves  of  the  sea  of  Sleep  ? 

ENVOY. 

Archangels,  princes,  thrones,  dominions,  powers ! 
Which  of  ye  dwarf  the  centuries  to  hours, 

Or  swell  the  moments  into  eons'  sweep? 
Is  it  the  Prince  of  Darkness,  then ,  who  cowers 

Below  the  dream-waves  of  the  sea  of  Sleep  ? 

I  was  full  of  indecision  and  fear  about 
looking  behind  the  screen,  but,  at  last,  I  did 
look—" 

Her  voice  failed.     I  gave  her  some  wine 

"  What  did  you  think  you  saw?" 

"  Think!     I  saw  it." 

"What?" 

"  Don't  ask  me!"  she  cried,  shuddering. 
"  I  cannot  describe  it.  Can  you  imagine  the 
aspect  of  a  corpse,  long  dead,  mouldering, 
luminous,  all  blue  light,  and  threads  and  tatters 
of  its  burial  robe?  O  God,  save  us!"  Her 
glance  rested  on  the  mantel.  "  I  will  not  keep 


Strag  fteueUr.  87 


that  rope.  I  will  not!  I  will  not  !  Curses  on 
him  and  his  memory  !  " 

She  snatched  down  the  glass  case,  broke  it, 
and  flung  the  rope  in  the  grate.  We  watched 
it  as  the  fire  consumed  it  and  for  a  few  mo- 
ments held  its  charred  outlines  as  it  had  fallen 
in  a  distinct  semblance  of  a  closed  hand  with 
index-finger  pointing  toward  the  screen  !  Our 
eyes  met  above  it.  "Do  poets  and  artists 
possess  an  extra  sense?"  she  muttered,  grasp- 
ing my  arm  in  awe. 

"  But  the  property  I'M  stammered  in  sudden 
alarm.  "  What  will  you  do  without  that?" 

"  No  one  need  know  at  present  of  this  con- 
flagration. I  will  lock  up  and  go  abroad.  I 
will  start  to-morrow  !  " 

Just  then  we  heard  the  voices  of  Dacre  and 
Chartram  in  the  hall.  We  stared  at  each 
other  in  dismay.  "They  must  not  come 
here!"  she  cried,  and  hurrying  toward  the 
next  room  disappeared  behind  the  screen. 
The  next  instant  a  blood-curdling  shriek  rang 
through  the  room,  rooting  me  to  the  spot  where 
I  stood.  Before  I  knew  anything  more,  Dacre 
and  Chartram  were  standing  by  me,  asking 
what  was  the  matter.  I  could  not  speak. 
Weighed  down  by  a  sense  of  dread,  I  could 
only  point  to  the  screen.  As  they  turned  it 


88 


aside,  throwing  another  part  of  the  room  into 
shadow,  the  picture  vanished  in  gloom,  but 
the  room  took  a  more  picturesque  aspect. 
The  door  ajar  showed,  across  the  narrow  hall, 
the  open  door  where  the  merry-makers  paused, 
leaning  forward  with  startled  faces  and  anx- 
ious gestures.  Aura  was  lying  full  length  on 
the  carpet,  dead  !  Her  face  was  full  of  terror. 
Was  it  only  a  shadow,  that  livid  line  around 
her  neck  as  if  she  had  been  strangled?  As 
we  turned  away  in  horror,  Dacre  uttered  a  cry 
of  surprise,  and  touching  Chartram,  pointed 
to  the  vacant  space  on  the  mantel. 

"The  rope?"  they  cried  with  one  voice, 
like  the  chorus  to  a  tragic  opera. 

"  She  had  just  burned  it,"  1  stammered. 

They  looked  at  each  other.  "  Did  she  fur- 
nish Penniel  with  the  means  to  destroy  her?" 
Dacre  asked  Chartram. 

"  Tell  me,"  I  begged,  "  what  is  the  mystery 
of  that  rope?" 

There  was  a  moment's  delay.  Then  Chart- 
ram gave  the  startling  reply  :  "It  was  the  one 
with  which  Penniel  hung  himself." 


THE    NIGHT    BEFORE    THE 
WEDDING. 


THE    NIGHT    BEFORE    THE 
WEDDING 


Etching. 


'Any  one  may  dream."  —Polish  Jew. 


Mother.  Eh!  What?  John,  I'm  glad  you 
woke  me. 

Crying,  was  I? 

Oh!  it  seemed  as  if  I  had  married  Seth 
instead  of  you.  Yet  it  was  bitter  to  lose  the 
years  that  you  and  I  have  been  dear  to  each 
other.  May  our  girl  be  half  as  happy ! 

Father.  There,  there,  Ann  !  All  have  hard 
trials  in  sleep  as  well  as  out.  Strange  truths 
show  there,  and  masks  fall.  I  was  dreaming, 
too.  (Sighs.)  I  wonder  what  became  of  my 
old  sweetheart  Jane ! 

Bride.  His  friend !  Urge  not.  Your  eyes 
are  kind.  You  would  be  gentle,  tender.  1 
should  adore  you  !  I  only  dreamed  that  I  was 
bound.  I  dare  go  to  the  world's  end,  the 

fartherest  star,  with  you — yet  I  tremble 

91 


92       ®lje  Nigljt  Before  ttye 


Best  Man.  My  shy  darling  !  He  is  too 
fierce,  but  /  —  why,  the  whole  grand  universe 
shaped  toward  ottr  blissful  meeting  !  Fear  not, 
you  and  Love  and  I  part  never,  but,  still  pil- 
grims three,  shall  pass  to  Paradise. 

Bridesmaid.  I  wept  for  this!  To  be,  if 
once  only,  folded  to  your  heart,  your  fond  lips 
on  mine!  My  soul's  great  deep  reflects  alone 
your  face  !  I  could  kill  myself  to  keep  it  there 
—  not  know  you  hers!  She  care  as  you  de- 
serve? I  worship  you  !  Her  right  is  not  like 
mine. 

Bridegroom.  You  draw  me  as  by  a  spell. 
Before  your  eyes*  fire  the  world  I  knew  melts 
into  nothingness!  Life  was  a  milk-and-por- 
ridge  nursery  rhyme  !  Now  first  grown  to  my 
full  stature,  with  the  strength,  the  will  of  a 
god,  I  defy  earth,  hell,  and  heaven  !  Come  ! 

Servant.  (To  another  as  they  wake  with 
a  start.)  Gone  to  be  married,  but  changed 
about  !  I  saw  them.  I  was  not  asleep  !  I  heard 
them  ;  I  got  up  and  looked  through  the  crack 
of  the  door.  Downstairs  went  one  couple  at 
a  time.  Queer-looking  —  like  spirits! 

Watch-dog.  They  came  out.  Where  did 
they  go?  Dust  rises  in  the  road  as  from  car- 
riages rolling  off  opposite  ways.  (Roused.) 
Two  o'clock  and  a  full  moon.  (Suddenly  bay- 


Nig!)t  Before  il)e  toefcbittg.       93 


ing.)  Powers  of  Air  !  whom  dull  man  doubts. 
/see  you!  /  know  your  work  —  tangling 
sleepers'  thoughts  with  luring,  mocking,  heart- 
rending hints  of  What  Might  Be  i  * 


THE  DRAMATIC  IN  MY  DESTINY. 


THE  DRAMATIC  IN  MY  DESTINY. 


"Who  shall  say,  'I  stand!'  nor  fall? 
Destiny  Is  over  all." 


PROLOGUE. 

" Alcohol  is  for  the  brutish  body,  opium  for 
the  divine  spirit,"  said  Tong-ko-lin-sing,  as  he 
lighted  the  lamp.  "  The  bliss  from  wine  grows 
and  wanes  as  the  body  has  its  time  of  growth 
and  loss,  but  that  from  opium  stays  at  one 
height,  as  the  soul  knows  no  youth  nor  age." 
He  brought  the  jar  of  black  paste,  rounded  up 
by  layer  on  layer  of  poppy  petals.  "  Opium 
soothes,  collects,  is  the  friend  alike  of  rich  or 
poor.  It  has  power  to  prove  to  the  sinner  that 
his  soul  is  pure,  and  make  the  unhappy  forget ; 
it  reverses  all  unpleasant  things,  like  the  pho- 
nograph playing  a  piece  of  music  backward." 
He  handed  me  the  pipe — flute-like,  fit  instru- 
ment for  the  divine  music  of  Dreamland,  though 
clumsy  bamboo — the  earthen  bowl  with  the 
rich  coloring  of  much  smoking,  like  a  China- 
man himself.  "Dead  faces  look  on  us,  and 

97 


98        ®lje  JUramatic  in  iHg  Sleeting. 

dead  voices  call,  for  the  soul  then  gains  its  full 
stature,  can  mix  with  the  immortals,  and 
does ;  when  alone  and  in  silence,  it  can  know 
that  Time  and  Space  have  no-  bounds."  He 
took  a  wire,  which  he  dipped  in  the  jar  and 
held  in  the  flame.  "  Strangest  of  all  is  the 
power  of  opium  to  form  as  well  as  repeat, 
even  from  odds  and  ends  in  our  minds.  There 
are  herbs  which  inspire,  those  which  destroy, 
and  those  which  heal.  The  Siberian  fungus 
benumbs  the  body,  and  not  the  mind;  the  Him- 
alayan and  the  New  Granadan  thorn-apple 
brings  spectral  illusions ;  why  should  there  not 
be  those  which  may  cast  prophetic  spells?" 
The  few  drops  of  the  paste  clinging  to  the 
wire  bubbled  and  burned.  He  smeared  it  on 
the  rim  of  the  pipe-bowl.  "  Opium  has  the 
power  of  a  god;  it  can  efface  or  renew  the 
Past,  and  ignore  or  foretell  the  Future." 

I  drew  three  or  four  whiffs  of  whitish 
smoke ;  the  bowl  was  empty.  Again  he  went 
through  the  long  course  of  filling.  "Though 
it  bring  dream  within  dream,  like  our  Chinese 
puzzles — mark  their  meaning,  for  our  Chinese 
saying  is,  '  The  world's  nonsense  is  the  sense 
of  God!"' 

I  heard.  I  knew  him  for  my  queer  teacher 
of  Chinese,  who  knew  French,  English,  and 


Dramatic  in  iHg  dDesting.       99 


Sanscrit  as  well,  whom  I  was  wont  to  muse 
over  here  in  "Chinatown,"  as  over  a  relic, 
until  oppressed  with  thought  of  the  age  of  his 
country,  until  San  Francisco  seemed  a  town 
built  of  a  child's  toy-houses,  and  ours  but  a 
gadfly  race.  I  knew  the  room,  with  its  odd 
urns  and  vases,  fans  and  banners,  some  of  the 
last  with  stain  which  shows  the  baptism  of 
human  blood,  given  to  make  them  lucky  in 
war;  the  china  and  bronze  gods,  ugly  and  im- 
possible as  nightmare  visions  ;  the  table,  with 
lamp  and  pot  of  tar-like  paste,  my  Chinese 
grammar,  and  paper  and  ink  ;  the  other  table, 
with  its  jar  of  sweetmeats,  covered  with  clas- 
sical quotations,  basket  of  queer  soft-shelled 
nuts,  and  bottle  of  Sam-Shoo  rice-brandy  ;  the 
much-prized  gift,  a  Lianchau  coffin,  standing 
up  in  the  corner  ;  the  mantelpiece,  with  Tong- 
ko-lin-sing's  worn  lot  of  books,  where  the 
great  poet,  Lintsehen,  leaned  on  Shakspeare, 
Sakuntala  stood  beside  Paul  and  Virginia, 
Robinson  Crusoe  nudged  Confucius  and  Hiou- 
enthsang,  and  Cinderella  sat  on  Laotse;  and 
hanging  above  them  a  great  dragon-kite  which 
would  need  a  man  to  control  it.  I  knew  the 
Chinese  lily,  standing  in  the  pebbles  at  the 
bottom  of  a  bowl  of  clear  water  on  the  window- 
sill,  by  a  globe  of  gold-fish;  and,  beyond, 


ioo      ®lj£  ^Dramatic  in  ills 


the  Oriental  street  (for  it  was  in  the  region 
bounded  by  Kearny,  Stockton,  Sacramento, 
and  Pacific  streets,  where  fifty  thousand  aliens 
make  an  alien  city,  a  city  as  Chinese  as  Pe- 
king, except  for  buildings  and  landscape,  and 
not  unlike  the  narrow,  dirty,  thronged  streets, 
with  dingy  brick  piles,  of  Shanghai);  the  cafe 
across  the  way,  with  green  lattice-work,  and 
gilding,  and  gay  colors  in  its  gallery;  the  lot- 
tery-man next  door,  setting  in  order  his  little 
black  book  covered  with  great  spots  like  blood  ; 
the  rattle  of  dice  coming  from  the  half-open 
basement  next  to  us  ;  the  cries  of  stray  ven- 
ders of  sweetmeats  ;  no  sound  of  any  language 
but  the  Chinese  passionless  drone,  too  cramped 
for  all  the  changes  of  life's  emotions,  with  its 
accent  unswerving  as  Fate  ;  the  only  women 
among  the  passers-by  shuffling  along  with  stiff 
outworks  of  shining  hair,  bright  with  tinsel 
and  paper  flowers,  and  wide  sleeves  waving 
like  bat-wings,  broad  fans,  spread  umbrellas, 
and  red  silk  handkerchiefs  —  sometimes  in  one 
of  these  a  baby  slung  over  its  mother's  back, 
perhaps  one  less  gayly  dressed  tottered  on 
goat-feet  between  two  girls  who  held  her  up  ; 
little  children  like  gaudy  butterflies  in  green 
and  gold,  purple  and  scarlet,  crimson  and 
white,  —  boys  in  gilt-fringed  caps,  girls  with 


®l)e  ^Dramatic  in  JHs  UJesting.      101 

hair  gummed  into  spread  sails,  and  decked 
like  their  elders ;  an  endless  line  of  dark,  mys- 
terious forms,  with  muffling  blouse  and  flaunt- 
ing queue,  the  rank,  poisonous  undergrowth 
in  our  forest  of  men.  I  was  idly  aware  of  all 
this.  I  knew  that  I,  Yorke  Rhys,  quite  care- 
free and  happy,  had  nothing  to  dread.  I 
calmly  dropped  down  the  tide  of  sleep — but 
what  was  this  vivid  and  awful  dream  —  all  in 
brighter  hues  and  deeper  shadows,  and  more 
sharply  real  than  Dreamland  seems,  without 
the  magic  touches  of  opium?  As  if  looking  in 
a  mirror,  like  the  Lady  of  Shalott,  I  saw  all 
past  scenes  at  once  as  a  great  whole.  Against 
the  mystic  gloom  of  opium  everything  stood 
out  as  the  night  shows  the  stars ;  the  soul  had 
a  mood  that  could  focus  All  since  the  making 
of  the  world,  and  only  then  knew  how  far  off, 
fading,  stretch  the  bounds  of  Time,  the  untold 
reach  of  the  Universe,  which  we  wrongly 
think  we  daily  see  and  know.  I  saw  into  it 
all  as  a  leader  reads  an  opera-score.  I  was 
unused  to  dreaming,  being  seldom  alone  and 
without  time  for  long  walks,  and  I  wondered 
when  my  own  mind  mocked  me  with  odd  bits 
it  held,  jumbled  and  awry,  like  my  own  like- 
ness in  rippling  water,  mostly  what  I  had  once 
thought  of,  but  not  as  I  thought  it.  Past 


102      f£l)e  HJratnatic  in 


events  started  forth,  not  as  what  I  had  gone 
through  with,  but  as  a  part  of  my  inner  sense, 
with  old  fancies  about  passing  trifles  ;  as  when 
one,  though  rapt  in  some  strong  feeling,  may 
yet  mark  the  number  of  notes  in  a  bird's  song, 
or  of  boughs  to  a  tree,  or  of  petals  to  a  flower, 
as  if  the  mind  must  be  double,  we  think  ;  but 
in  my  dream  I  learned  that  it  is  yet  more  com- 
plex. In  the  vast  poppy  fields  of  Bengal, 
likened  to  green  lakes  where  lilies  bloom,  near 
the  holy  city  of  Benares,  which  dates  itself 
back  to  creation,  I  idly  plucked  a  white  blos- 
som on  a  lonely  stalk,  and  flung  it  down,  when 
it  at  once  changed  to  a  shapeless  form,  which 
chased  me.  Then  it  seemed  it  had  been  my 
curse  through  far-off  ages,  the  frost  that 
chilled  me  when  I  was  a  flower,  the  white  cat 
that  killed  me  when  I  was  a  bird,  the  white 
shark  that  caught  me  when  I  was  a  fish  —  in 
all  places  a  white  cloud  between  me  and  my 
sunshine.  My  horse,  in  gold  armor,  thickly 
gemmed,  bore  me  from  the  field  where  a  silk 
tent  held  my  love,  with  others  of  King  Ar- 
thur's court,  to  a  gloomy-raftered  cobwebbed 
hall,  where  shield  and  battle-axe  were  given 
me,  and  soon  I  wept  over  the  shattered  helm 
of  one  whom  I  had  loved  —  yet  killed.  Where 
silver  cressets  shone  behind  diamond  panes, 


f&tye  ?Bramatic  in  ittg  UDestinji.      103 

and  dragon-banners  flew  from  gilded  turrets  of 
my  castle,  I  waited  at  a  postern  in  the  wall  for 
a  note  from  my  lady-fair,  but  the  pale  spectre 
of  a  scorned  lover  told  me  she  was  dead. 
Through  the  lapse  of  ages,  over  strange  lands, 
in  old  and  new-world  town  or  wild,  I  often  lost 
my  way,  but  never  the  sense  of  an  unseen 
foe.  Now,  at  a  masked  ball  in  some  old 
palace,  where  I  was  dogged  by  a  white  domino 
with  whom  1  must  fight  a  duel ;  then,  in  the 
red  glare  of  the  southern  moon  in  the  Arizona 
desert,  through  stillness  overwhelming  as 
noise,  I  fled  from  a  figure  hid  in  a  Moqui 
blanket.  By  huge  fires,  1,  too,  waited  the 
coming  of  Montezuma.  I  was  Montezuma, 
held  down  by  weight  of  the  mountain  which 
bears  his  profile  at  Maricopa  Wells.  My  great 
white  shadow  flitted  after  me  across  the  red 
and  yellow  of  Colorado  scenery.  In  the  aw- 
ful depths  of  Gypsum  Canon,  I  gazed  in  de- 
spair up  at  the  round,  well-like  heights  for 
chance  to  flee  from  It.  At  the  Royal  Gorge, 
peering  from  the  cliff  straight  down  for  over 
two  thousand  feet,  I  gladly  saw  It  at  the  base. 
Eased,  I  stood  on  a  mountain-top,  where,  as  I 
turned,  I  saw  the  four  seasons — most  wonder- 
ful view  that  could  be  brought  by  a  wizard  of 
old  to  a  king's  windows ;  but  here  I  suddenly 


104      QLl)t  ^Dramatic  in 


found  a  white  mist  that  turned  as  I  did,  and 
strove  to  shape  itself  to  my  form.  Crossing 
the  plains  of  Nevada,  It  was  the  white  dust 
which  choked  and  blinded  me  from  sight  of 
the  pink  and  purple  mist-veiled  peaks.  In  a 
Mexican  mine,  at  a  shrine  to  the  Virgin,  cut  in 
the  rock  where  her  lamp  glowed  through  last- 
ing night,  It  was  the  large  white  bead  of  my 
rosary  of  Job's  Tears,  which  took  my  thoughts 
from  prayer  and  broke  my  vows.  Again,  It 
was  the  mirage  of  Arizona  midnights  or  noons, 
and  I  was  one  of  the  coyotes  who  leave  their 
holes  to  howl.  It  was  a  spectre  that  strove  to 
burden  me  with  the  secret  of  the  pre-historic 
ruins  of  the  Casa  Grande.  It  brooded  as  a 
mist  over  the  Colorado  River  while  I  hid  in  its 
depths  —  a  corpse  —  as  if  it  might  be  my  ghost. 
Here  I  could  have  been  safe,  since  that  stream 
does  not  give  up  its  dead,  but  as  a  small  bird  I 
was  forced  to  cross  a  wide  sea,  chased  through 
days  and  nights  by  a  great  white  gull.  Lost 
in  the  jungle  of  a  Chinese  forest,  I  suddenly 
came  to  a  clearing  where  beetle  and  glow- 
worm were  staking  out  a  grave  for  some  one 
near  and  dear  to  me,  whose  death  I  could  not 
hinder.  I  watched  until  they  began  to  mark  a 
second  grave  —  oh,  for  whom?  But  I  was  torn 
from  this  sight,  and  thrust  in  the  heart  of  a 


^Dramatic  in  Hip  testing.      105 


Chinese  city.  I  wound  through  its  crooked 
streets  to  a  dark  flight  of  steps,  which  came  to 
an  end;  no  rail,  no  step,  darkness  before  I 
could  get  quite  down  ;  and  I  was  again  creep- 
ing from  the  top  of  a  like  staircase.  Over  and 
over  1  tried  to  go  down  these  vanishing  stairs. 
At  last,  1  was  faced  suddenly,  as  if  he  sprang 
through  a  trap-door,  by  a  huge  white  form 
that  tried  to  tell  me  something,  some  strange 
fact  linked  with  my  fate,  which  would  explain 
a  secret  that  had  long  chafed  me.  But  what? 
I  shook  with  fear  —  Tong-ko-lin-sing  spoke  to 
me.  I  woke.  My  first  glance  fell  on  the  pure, 
sweet-scented  lily,  calm  and  fair,  in  its  clear, 
glass-bowl,  and  the  relief  was  so  great  that 
tears  sprang  to  my  eyes. 


ACT  I. 

"  'Was  it  not  Fate,  whose  name  is  also  Sor- 
row?' "  said  Elinor. 

We  were  looking  at  Randolph  Rogers's 
"Lost  Pleiad, "  in  the  inner  room  of  Morris  & 
Schwab's  picture-store. 

"No,"  said  I,  kindling  at  a  glance  from  her 
fine  eyes;  "Fate  is  well  named  when  in  one's 
favor,  but  cannot  be  truly  against  one.  I 
could  master  it ;  so  could  others.  Man  rules 


106      f£le  Dramatic  in 


his  own  life  —  it  need  not  depend  on  others  — 
he  gains  what  he  strives  for,  and  need  never 
yield  to  evil  forces." 

"  Then  you  have  no  pity  for  the  man  who 
killed  another  here  yesterday?" 

"  None.  That  is  the  worst  of  crimes.  I 
respect  the  Brahmins,  who  hold  life  sacred 
even  in  an  insect.  No.  Heaven  may  keep 
me  from  other  sin  —  I  will  hold  myself  from 
murder." 

"  Your  friend,  Noel  Brande,  does  not  think 
as  you  do." 

"No;  but  he  gains  his  wishes  because  he 
is  brave  enough  to  try  and  fight  what  he  calls 
doom." 

"  That  is  not  the  only  point  on  which  you 
differ." 

"  No;  but  we  are  too  fond  of  each  other  to 
quarrel." 

"  Even  Fate  could  not  break  your  friend- 
ship?" 

"  Never.     I  defy  it." 

"It  is  as  good  as  a  fortune  to  be  sure  of 
one's  self,"  she  said,  looking  at  me  for  an  in- 
stant with  such  approval  that  I  was  bewitched 
enough  to  have  spoken  my  love  if  others  had 
not  come  in,  and  we  soon  strolled  home. 

Her  shy,  brief  glances  stirred  my  brain  like 


f£l)e  Dramatic  in  ittg  JDesting.      107 

wine.  Was  it  true  that  the  woman  who  could 
look  long  in  a  man's  eyes  could  not  love  him? 
I  sighed  with  joy.  I  was  in  the  gay  mood 
which  the  Scotch  think  comes  just  before  ill 
luck.  It  had  been  a  very  happy  day.  I  had 
taken  her  to  drive  in  the  Park  in  the  morning ; 
I  had  found  her  in  the  picture-store  in  the 
afternoon.  As  we  went  up  our  boarding-house 
steps,  I  felt  that  the  world  was  made  for  me. 
As  she  passed  through  the  storm-door  before 
me,  I  stayed  for  mere  lightness  of  heart  to 
drop  a  gold  piece  in  the  apron  of  Nora,  the 
neat  Irish  nurse-girl,  sitting  outside  with  Eli- 
nor's little  cousins.  Elinor  had  glided  so  far 
alone  that  .Si-ki,  coming  toward  her  with  a 
card  that  had  been  left  for  her,  did  not  see 
me.  I  watched  him,  thinking  of  what  Nora 
had  told  of  his  skill  in  making  melon-seed 
fowls,  and  carving  flowers  from  vegetables, 
and  of  her  dislike  for  his  hue — 'Mike  an  old, 
green  copper,"  she  said.  He  did  have  an  odd 
sort  of  tea-color  to  his  skin,  not  unlike  that  of 
morphine-lovers,  but  I  thought  he  looked  no 
worse  than  Nora,  with  her  face  like  a  globe- 
fish.  Elinor,  with  hand  on  the  newel,  paused 
to  look  at  the  card.  Amazed  and  angry,  I  saw 
Si-ki  dare  to  lay  his  hand  on  hers,  saying : 
"Nicey!  Nicey!" 


io8      &lje  Dramatic  in  Jttji  Sleeting. 

Elinor's  hand — that  I  had  not  yet  held  but 
as  any  one  might,  in  a  dance,  or  to  help  her 
from  a  carriage!  The  sight  filled  me  with 
such  rage,  that,  just  as  I  would  have  brushed 
a  gnat  out  of  the  world,  I  sprang  on  Si-ki  and 
began  beating  him.  I  was  in  such  fury  that  I 
scarcely  knew  when  Elinor  and  Nora  fled,  or 
that  the  French  lady  hung  over  the  railing  up- 
stairs, in  her  white  frilled  wrapper,  with  but 
one  of  her  diamond  sparks  in  her  ears,  and 
her  hair  half  dressed,  crying  to  heaven ;  that 
the  Spanish  lady  stood  in  the  parlor-door,  clap- 
ping her  hands;  that  the  German  professor 
opening  his  door,  the  Italian  merchant  running 
down-stairs,  the  English  banker,  the  American 
broker,  and  my  friend  Brande,  coming  in  from 
the  street,  all  tried  to  stop  me. 

"Keep  back!  It  is  a  matter  between  us 
two!"  I  answered  them  all.  "Between  us 
two!"  timing  my  blows  to  my  words.  I 
thrashed  him  till  my  cane  snapped  in  two. 
"  Between  us  two !  "  I  turned  him  out.  "  Be- 
tween us  two!"  I  cried,  and  flung  him  down 
the  steps.  "  Between  us  two ! "  I  muttered  to 
myself  as  I  went  up-stairs  to  my  room,  with  a 
passing  glimpse  of  Elinor,  disturbed  and  blush- 
ing, in  the  doorway  of  her  aunt's  room.  She 
did  not  come  to  dinner.  The  foreign  boarders 


Dramatic  in  ifljj  JDesting.      109 


were  shocked  or  excited  ;  the  others  amused  or 
unmoved;  the  landlady  was  vexed.  I  was 
filled  with  shame  to  have  spent  so  much  force 
and  feeling  on  such  a  wretch,  and  'to  have  dis- 
tressed Elinor  by  setting  all  these  tongues  in 
motion  about  her  ;  to  think  that  I,  Yorke  Rhys, 
high-born  and  high-bred,  should  have  deigned 
to  so  beat  a  creature  of  no  more  worth  in  the 
world  than  a  worm.  But,  as  I  told  Brande 
that  night  in  my  room,  I  had  a  strange  dislike 
for  Si-ki. 

"  He  was  too  cat-like,"  I  said,  "with  his 
grave  air,  his  slyness  and  soft  tread,  his  self- 
contained  cunning." 

"Yes,"  said  Brande;  "our  rough  classes 
are  like  the  larger  kind  of  beast  ;  those  of  the 
Chinese  are  like  rats  and  gophers  —  the  timid, 
wiry,  alert  creatures  who  pose  on  their  hind- 
legs  in  nursery-tale  pictures." 

"  They  look  like  a  child's  drawing  on  a 
slate,"  I  said;  "  outlines  of  a  man,  in  square- 
cut  robes." 

"But  that  Chinese  teacher  of  yours  is 
worse,"  said  he;  "dark  as  if  the  gloom  of 
ages  had  taken  man's  shape,  with  as  still 
motion,  locked  behind  his  reserve,  as  if  cased 
in  mail.  It  is  like  dealing  with  ghost  or 
sphinx." 


no      {£!)£  ^Dramatic  in  ittg 


"He  shows  the  effect  of  inherited  civiliza- 
tion," said  I;  "dignified,  priestly,  close- 
mouthed  as  if  his  millions  of  ancestors  in  him 
frowned  at  me  as  one  of  a  short-lived  race  —  a 
sort  of  Mormon-fly  with  its  life  of  one  night." 

"  He  and  the  Chinese  grammar  both  would 
be  too  much  for  me  to  meet/'  said  Brande. 

"  But  they  have  each  their  charm,"  I  said. 
"The  grammar  shows  the  hidden  working  of 
the  mind,  the  laws  of  thought." 

"That  early  hieroglyphic  you  told  me 
about,"  said  he,  "of  folding-doors  and  an  ear, 
which  meant  'to  listen/  shows  the  same  law 
of  thought  that  our  landlady  has.  What  hid- 
den force  let  her  have  only  raw  coolies  for 
months  after  she  sent  off  a  trained  servant  for 
his  thefts?  We  hear  of  their  'high-binders' 
and  other  secret  societies.  You  have  not 
known  the  last  of  that  cur  you  whipped." 

"  Pshaw  !  I  soon  start  for  China,  anyway," 
said  I  —  "glad  of  the  pay  promised  me  there 
for  three  years,  and  tired  of  roughing  it  in 
Nevada,  Colorado,  and  Arizona;  but  I  wish  — 
I  wish  I  could  have  had  a  chance  with  your 
friends  on  California  street." 

"  I  wish  you  had,"  he  said;  "but  never 
mind.  You  will  have  gained  the  Chinese  lan- 
guage, and,  judging  by  your  feat  of  to-day, 


Dramatic  in  JUg  UDestins.      in 


the  Chinamen  had  better  not  cross  your  path. 
Was  it  for  this  we  moved  to  this  house  of 
seven  gabbles  ?"  +' 

"For  this,"  I  answered,  glumly.  "Why 
did  we  move?"  For  we  were  scarcely  settled. 
I  came  to  be  near  Elinor,  and  Brande  because 
he  wished  to  be  with  me. 

"  There  is  the  cause,"  he  said,  nodding 
toward  the  window  as  a  gust  of  wind  swept 
by.  "  People  wonder  at  the  roving  impulse  of 
the  San  Franciscans.  It  is  the  wind  which 
urges  and  compels  them  to  arise  and  go  ;  it  has 
even  driven  me  to  try  and  mock  the  monotone 
of  its  chant." 

He  took  from  his  pocket  and  read  to  me 
these  lines  : 

THE  WIND!  THE  WIND!  THE  WIND! 

Refrain,  refrain,  O  wind!  from  such  complaining, 
Or  deign  at  last  to  make  thy  murmurs  sane. 

Explain,  explain  thy  pathos  ever  paining  — 
Thy  vain  desire  torments  and  tires  my  brain. 
Refrain  !    Refrain  ! 

At  last  reveal  how  vanished  ages  freighted 
Thy  voices  with  their  added  woe  and  pain  ; 

Forbear  to  mutter  —  I  feel  execrated. 
Urge  not,  for  naught  impatience  can  attain. 
Refrain  !    Refrain  1 


ii2      ©I)e  Dramatic  in 


At  last,  at  last,  cease  all  thy  raging  clamor, 
Nor  beat  and  pant  against  my  window-pane. 

I  listen  now ;  at  last  thine  eerie  hammer 
Mine  ear  hath  welded  for  thy  mystic  strain  — 
Nay,  crouch  not  nigh  with  clank  of  heavy  chain. 
Refrain !    Refrain ! 

At  last  thy  blast,  whose  mocking  threat  just  passed, 
Must  feign  new  breath.    What  awful  secret  (lain 

For  ages  in  thy  realm  of  space,  too  vast 
For  thought)  shall  thy  next  startling  sounds  contain  ? 
I  fain  would  flee— thy  sighs  constrain. 
Refrain !    Refrain ! 

Insane,  far-off,  pathetic  tones  retaining, 

No  grain  of  all  that  caused  them  may  remain ; 
Again  renewing  in  thy  wild  campaigning 

The  strain  of  bugles  under  Charlemagne ; 
Again  unearthly  voices,  summons  feigning, 

Ordain  the  death  of  Joan  of  Lorraine ; 
Again  high  shrieks  that  castle-turrets  gaining 

Thrill  pain  and  dread  through  Cawdor's  haunted 

Thane; 
Again  low  sighs  (no  bliss  of  love  attaining) 

That  gain  the  longing  lips  of  lorn  Elayne. 
Mock  strain  and  creak  of  hollow  oak  distraining 

Profane  magician  Merlin  in  Bretagne. 
Complain  — the  English  peasant's  ear  detaining, 

Remain  to  him  the  sad  song  of  the  Dane. 
Draw  rein,  O  souls  of  dead!  who  ride  (retaining 

A  train  of  howling  dogs)  new  souls  to  gain. 
To  vain  and  vague  lament  my  thought  constraining. 
Refrain !    Refrain ! 


Dramatic  in  illg  EDsstinB.      113 


Though  rain,  though  sun  thine  own  rapt  mood  sustain- 
ing 

Of  vain  regret,  no  more  must  thou  complain, 
Nor  strain  to  show,  in  depths  and  glooms  remaining, 

Wild  main  and  reefs  that  wrecked,  old  days  of  pain. 
Disdain,  deride  no  more,  my  whole  thought  gaining 

With  skein  of  subtle  hints  that  are  my  bane  ; 
Of  rain  that  slants  athwart  mid-ocean  plaining 

While  train  of  shadows  crosses  heaven's  plain, 
No  reign  of  stars,  nor  moon  whose  crescent  waning 

Might  vein  the  purple  dusk  with  amber  stain  ; 
Far  lane  of  snow  no  mortal  foot  profaning, 

Moraine  may  lock,  or  iceberg  rent  in  twain  ; 
In  chain  of  peaks,  where  thunder-clouds  are  gaining, 

Unslain  old  echoes  rise  and  roll  again  — 
Again.    Thine  incantations  oft  sustaining 

With  strain  of  distant  bells  that  chimes  maintain 
Ingrain  with  melancholy,  hope  quite  draining, 

Like  plaintive  fall  of  castles  built  in  Spain. 
O'erlain  with  laugh  and  yell  and  sob  complaining, 

The  train  of  sound  is  broken,  scattered,  slain. 
Regain,  constrain  to  far  and  further  waning  — 
Refrain  I    Refrain  ! 

How  reign  such  fancies?    By  thy  weird  ordaining, 

Or  lain  amid  the  fibres  of  my  brain  ? 
The  vane  of  thought  turned  by  thy  mournful  plaining, 

Shrill  strain  of  days  remote  and  love  long  slain, 
Shows  plain  inheritance  of  grief  pertaining 

To  train  of  ancestors  whose  acts  enchain  — 
Old  pain,  far  peaks  of  woe  chill  heights  attaining, 

Faint  stain  of  ancient  crime  starts  out  amain, 
The  bane,  the  burden  of  Unrest  remaining 

Through  wane  of  ages  though  no  clue  is  plain  ; 


ii4      ®l)e  Dramatic  in  ills 


Old  vein  volcanic,  quicksands  cruel  feigning, 
Or  main  in  tumult  as  chance  gales  constrain, 

My  brain-palimpsest  but  dim  trace  containing, 
Made  plain,  O  Wind  !  when  thy  fierce  cries  arraign. 
Refrain  !    Refrain  ! 

As  he  ceased,  the  wind,  which  had  thrust  in 
its  undertone  of  sympathy,  rose  so  strongly 
that  the  house  trembled  like  a  boat,  and  in  the 
close,  creeping  fog  we  might  have  been  far  out 
at  sea,  for  any  sign  to  be  seen  of  the  city  be- 
low us.  We  sat  in  silence,  broken  suddenly 
by  a  quick,  urgent  knocking.  Brande  opened 
the  door.  Elinor's  aunt  stood  there,  looking 
wild.  Without  heeding  him,  she  called  to  me  : 

"How  could  you  do  it?  Why  did  you  do 
it?" 

"  Because  he  insulted  her,"  I  stammered. 

"  He  has  done  worse  now  !  "  she  said. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Brande,  while 
I  stood  in  speechless  wonder. 

"I  mean,"  said  she,  still  looking  at  me, 
"that  Nora  brought  some  Chinese  sweetmeats 
that  she  said  you  had  sent  Elinor,  but  it  seems 
they  were  given  her  by  Si-ki." 

"By  Si-ki!"  we  both  cried. 

"  With  word  that  they  were  what  you  had 
once  promised  to  get  for  her." 

"Well?"  I  gasped. 


^Dramatic  in  4flj)  Stestinji.      115 


"  Elinor,  poor  girl,  at  once  tasted  them — " 
"And— " 

" —  and  now  lies  senseless!" 
"  Great  heavens ! "  cried  Brande,  turning  to 
me.     "Poisoned?" 

"  Poisoned  ! "  I  moaned. 


ACT  II. 

Chased  by  Brande  as  by  a  shadow,  I  in 
turn  tracked  two  policemen,  through  a  net- 
work of  horror  like  a  nightmare — through  the 
foreign  city  in  the  heart  of  San  Francisco,  like 
a  clingstone  in  its  peach.  In  single  file,  drop- 
ping story  below  story  under  the  sidewalks, 
we  slipped  and  stumbled  in  mildew,  damp,  and 
dirt,  where  the  coolies  flitted  round  like  gnomes, 
where  no  window  let  in  light,  no  drain  bore  off 
bad  air.  We  searched  narrow  galleries  run- 
ning everywhere,  often  bridging  each  other 
like  those  of  an  ant-hill,  and  dark  ways  where 
but  one  could  pass.  We  bent  at  doorways 
that  barred  our  path  at  sudden  turns,  peered 
into  vile  dens  that  lined  the  way,  and,  choking 
and  strangling,  climbed  above  ground,  where 
we  scanned  the  thousands  of  workmen  in  the 
many  boot  and  shoe  factories  and  cigar-works ; 
hunted  through  the  numberless  gambling-hells, 


n6      ®rje  Dramatic  in 


but  could  not  pass  the  old  watchman,  with 
wrinkled  face  like  a  baked  apple,  sitting  on  a 
stool  in  front  of  a  red  curtain  (the  color  for 
luck),  before  he  jerked  the  cord  dangling  near 
him,  when  bells  warned,  doors  were  barred, 
bolts  shot  like  lightning,  door  upon  door  sud- 
denly thrust  itself  across  our  path,  or  a  screen 
slyly  slid  before  us,  turning  us  unaware  into 
another  passage.  In  this  way,  through  secret 
signs,  the  whole  ground-plan  of  a  building 
would  shift  and  dupe  like  a  mirage.  We  might 
at  last  find  a  group  of  men  merely  talking, 
with  neither  dice,  domino,  dragon,  or  demon- 
pictured  parchment  card,  button,  nor  brass 
ring,  in  sight  —  no  copper  with  square  centre 
hole,  nor  other  trace  of  Fan-Tan  ;  or  find  such 
utter  darkness  that  fear  seized  us  and  drove  us 
out.  We  viewed  their  pent,  full  workshops 
and  boarding-houses,  each  story  refloored  once 
or  twice  between  the  first  floor  and  ceiling,  and 
their  lodgings  where  they  are  shelved  in  tiers. 
We  tried  to  find  their  courts  of  justice,  but 
found  secret  laws  within  our  laws,  like  puzzle 
in  puzzle,  and  all  in  charge  of  the  six-headed 
chief  power,  the  strong  Six  Companies,  from 
whose  joint  decree  there  is  no  appeal.  All 
hedged  from  us  by  a  Great  Wall  —  of  their 
language,  for  what  I  heard  spoken  was  not  the 


&!)e  ^Dramatic  in  M$  tH^sting.      117 

written  language  I  had  learned  from  books — 
and  of  their  ways,  formed  by  such  long,  slow 
growth  that  it  is  the  soul  of  their  past  ages 
which  still  lives — it  is  the  same  Chinese  who 
lived  before  the  flood  who  watch  us  now. 
Worn  out,  Brande  and  I  started  for  home,  but 
on  the  way  stopped  to  see  Tong-ko-lin-sing. 
He  had  been  playing  chess  with  his  friend  Si 
Hung  Chang,  who  left  as  we  went  in,  and  he 
packed  the  chessmen  in  their  box  while  he 
heard  our  tale,  but  said  nothing.  His  face  was 
a  clear  blank  when  Brande  asked  about  secret 
societies.  I  tried  all  forms  of  begging  and  urg- 
ing I  could  think  of.  He  would  not  know  what 
we  meant.  He  offered  us  cigars,  and  took  his 
pipe,  as  if  he  wished  us  to  go— his  own  pipe, 
with  a  small  tube  on  one  side,  in  which  to  burn 
an  opium-pill.  Too  dear  to  him  to  trust  in  the 
hands  of  a  "foreign  devil,"  I  had  not  been 
given  a  chance  to  touch  it.  Brande  laid  a 
large  gold-piece  on  the  table.  Tong-ko-lin-sing 
smiled,  wavered,  but  sank  back  into  grave 
silence.  Brande  poured  forth  a  stream  of 
abuse.  Tong-ko-lin-sing,  bland  and  deaf,  eyed 
his  Lianchau  coffin  with  pride,  and  fell  into 
deep  thought.  I  opened  the  door,  and  signed 
to  Brande  to  follow  me.  He  did  so,  swearing 
at  the  whole  Chinese  race  as  sly  fools.  We 


n8      f&tye  ^Dramatic  in  Iflg 


were  half-way  downstairs,  when  Tong-ko-lin- 
sing  shuffled  out  on  the  landing  and  called  after 
us,  the  English  words  having  a  queer  effect  of 
centred  force  when  intoned  like  Chinese  : 

"  Red-haired  devils  !  barbarians  !  all  of  you  ! 
Like  bears  beating  their  stupid  heads  against 
the  Great  Wall.  Are  the  black-haired  people 
not  your  betters?  Great  in  mind  as  in  num- 
bers, did  we  not  make  paper  and  ink,  and 
print,  a  thousand  years  before  your  time?  — 
and  travel  by  a  compass  more  than  twenty- 
five  hundred  years  before  your  Christ?"  He 
shuffled  back,  but  swung  out  again  to  add: 
"  Do  we  not  excel  in  dyes,  in  sugar,  in  porce- 
lain, gunpowder,  and  fireworks?"  He  started 
toward  his  room,  but  turned  back  to  cry: 
"Think  of  our  secrets  in  the  working  of 
metals,  our  triumphs  in  the  casting  of  bells, 
our  magic  mirrors  which  reflect  what  is 
wrought  on  their  backs!"  He  seemed  to 
have  really  done  this  time,  but  stopped  in  his 
door  for  this  boast:  "Look  at  our  silk,  cot- 
ton, linen,  engraved  wood  and  iron,  carved 
ivory,  bronze  antiques,  fine  lacquer-work! 
We  make  as  brilliant  figures  in  the  universe 
as  our  rare  colors  on  our  famous  pith-paper  !  " 
His  grand  air  struck  Brande  as  so  absurd  that 
in  his  nervous  excitement  he  laughed.  Tong- 


®lje  UJramatic  in  iUg  IDesting.      119 

ko-lin-sing  darted  out  again,  shaking  his  fore- 
finger at  us,  as  if  in  the  Chinese  game  of  Fi-fi, 
or  like  our  "  Fie !  for  shame ! " 

"You  foreign  devils  would  be  wiser  than 
your  forefathers.  You  care  nothing  for  the 
sages  of  old.  What  do  you  know  of  our  three 
thousand  rules  and  forms?  You  need  a  tri- 
bunal like  ours  at  Peking,  a  Board  of  Rites!  " 
Going  through  his  door,  he  called  over  his 
shoulder:  "  What  is  your  poor  country?  Not 
fit  for  our  graves !  To  be  happy  on  earth  one 
must  be  born  in  Suchow,  live  in  Canton,  and 
die  in  Lianchau.  T-r-r-r!  Begone!" 

I  had  gone  back  a  few  steps,  and  could  see 
into  his  room.  I  heard  a  chuckle  as  his  wide 
sleeve  swept  carelessly  over  the  table  as  he 
went  by  it.  He  passed  on.  There  was  no 
money  there. 

"Who  could  have  foreseen  such  a  lecture 
from  a  jumping-jack  in  brocade  drawers,  tight 
to  the  ankle,  and  a  loose  blouse?"  said  Brande, 
as  we  hurried  home.  "  He  has  the  wholly 
irresponsible  air  of  a  clothier's  sign-suit  swing- 
ing in  the  wind,  but  he  knows  the  points  of  the 
compass! " 

We  found  Elinor  seemed  to  have  changed 
for  the  worse  and  still  senseless.  After  Brande 
left  me  I  sat  in  my  window,  too  sad  and  too 


120      f£l)e  Dramatic  in  iHg 


tired  to  go  to  rest.  I  saw  Goat  Island  loom 
large,  but  blurred  by  fog,  like  Heine's  phan- 
tom isle,  faint  in  the  moonshine,  where  mists 
danced  and  sweet  tones  rang,  but  the  lovers 
swam  by,  unblest,  off  into  the  wide  sea. 
Elinor  and  I,  too,  had  touched  no  isle  of  bliss, 
but  passed  comfortless  into  a  sea  of  uncer- 
tainty which  might  widen  into  eternity.  Sweet 
as  it  had  been  to  be  on  the  brink  of  owning  our 
love,  what  would  I  not  have  given  now  to  have 
some  fond  words?  —  even  but  one  kiss,  to  re- 
call in  time  to  come  if  —  I  could  not  think  of 
such  a  loss.  I  lighted  my  room,  and  tried  to 
read  or  write,  but  in  vain.  I  only  thought  of 
her.  "  Oh  !  "  I  groaned,  "  if  I  could  have  had 
some  proof  that  she  loved  me!"  As  I  sat,  I 
saw  in  a  long  mirror  the  door  behind  me  open, 
and  —  Elinor  come!  In  misty  white  trailing 
robe,  she  looked  unreal.  Could  it  be,  I 
thought,  that  they  had  left  her  alone  to  leave 
her  room  in  a  trance?  A  thrill  of  joy  shot 
through  me  that  she  should  even  uncon- 
sciously come  straight  to  me.  I  sprang  to  my 
feet  and  turned  toward  her  —  to  find  I  was 
alone!  I  sank  again  in  my  chair.  Was  I 
losing  my  wits?  No  —  she  was  there  —  there 
in  the  mirror,  looking  at  me  with  the  deepest 
woe  in  her  face  !  She  reached  her  arms  to- 


&lje  ^Dramatic  in  ills  fttestins.      121 

ward  me,  as  if  she  longed  to  embrace  me,  and 
looked  so  sorry,  so  sorry  for  me. 

"  Did  I  stay  with  Tong-ko-lin-sing,  and 
take  opium  again?"  I  murmured. 

She  made  a  gesture  of  farewell  and  half 
turned  to  go. 

"Elinor!  Elinor!"  I  cried. 

A  spasm  of  grief  crossed  her  face.  Filled 
with  wonder,  sorrow,  and  surprise,  I  rose 
again,  but  she  made  a  motion  of  despair  and 
left  the  room  before  I  could  turn.  Did  she  go? 
Was  she  there,  or  was  my  brain  wild?  My 
own  shadow,  crossing  the  ceiling  toward  the 
door  as  I  moved,  startled  me.  Had  I  not  read 
of  the  ill-will  between  shadows  and  the  beings 
that  live  in  mirrors?  Mad  I  should  surely  be 
if  I  stayed  longer  alone ;  yet  I  opened  the  door 
most  unwillingly.  The  dim  hall  was  still  and 
vacant.  I  went  to  Elinor's  door.  Her  aunt 
said  for  the  last  half-hour  they  had  not  felt 
sure  she  was  not  dead,  but  there  had  just 
come  back  signs  of  life ;  they  could  see  that 
she  breathed  again.  The  doctor  had  slight 
hope.  She  gave  me  a  slip  of  paper  covered 
with  Elinor's  dainty  penciling. 

"  I  found  that  in  Elinor's  pocket,"  she  said, 
"in  the  dress  she  wore  when  out  with  you 
yesterday.  I  thought  you  would  like  to  read 


i22      (£l)e  Dramatic  in 


it.*'     And  the  grim,  old  woman  really  looked 
with  pity  at  me. 

I  wrung  her  hand,  and  rushed  to  my  room  to 
read  : 

THE  LOST  PLEIAD. 
"Merope  mortalis  nupsit." 

Spellbound,  by  planet  that  I  fain  would  spurn, 

To  circle  like  the  forms  in  poet's  soul, 
Like  them  for  starry  heights  to  madly  yearn, 

Yet  feel  the  tension  of  the  Earth's  control, 

And  ever  drifting  seem 
Like  blossom  floating  down  restraining  stream. 

Through  vast  cloud-spaces,  up  and  down  I  wheel, 
While  years,  like  vagrant  winds,  shift  far  below? 

The  stillness  of  the  upper  air  I  feel 
Is  like  the  rest  the  immortals  ever  know. 
Here  1  forget  how  man 

Through  haste  and  strife  his  life  can  merely  plan. 

His  life,  like  that  reflected  in  a  glass, 
Knows  not  the  sweep  of  that  among  the  gods  — 

Has  its  set  limits  that  he  may  not  pass 
Except  he  vow  himself  to  Art's  long  odds, 
And  Sorrow's  eyes  of  woe 

Must  some  time  fix  on  each  with  baleful  glow. 

More  wise  than  man  the  acts  of  Nature  are  — 
The  little  dewdrop  pearling  twilight  leaf 

Will  take  unto  its  inmost  heart  a  star 
Which  mortals  give  but  careless  glance  and  brief, 
Nor  heed  when  slants  the  sun 

What  mystic  signs  gleam  red,  gold  clouds  upon. 


HJramalic  in  iftn  EDestinn.      123 


Forlorn,  I  fail  forever  Pleiad  height  — 
Float  downward  just  above  the  phantom  realm 

Where  Fame  and  Beauty,  Love  and  Power,  take  flight, 
Fate  ever  whirling  after  to  o'erwhelm.  • 
See  rise  the  Day's  bold  crown, 

Or  muffled  Night  with  stolen  stars  slink  down . 

With  slow  pulse  poise  while  moonless  midnights  pass. 

And  vivid  on  the  velvet  dark  is  lain, 
By  memory  painted,  that  sweet  time  —  alas !  — 

When  yet  I  knew,  as  nymph  in  Dian's  train, 

The  gods,  the  stars,  the  tides, 
The  sylvan  fauns  and  satyrs  —  naught  besides. 

Not  for  the  goddess,  stag,  and  hunt,  I  sigh- 

Nor  for  my  sister  Pleiades  above, 
As  for  the  blissful  moments  long  gone  by 

In  rapture  and  despair  of  mortal  love. 

This  is  the  potent  spell 
Which  sends  me  drifting  down  the  cloud-sea  swell ! 

"It  cannot  be!"  I  cried,  with  bursting 
heart.  "  Our  drama  is  not  ended.  Some- 
where, some  time,  it  must  go  on,  even  though 
she  passes  now  behind  the  green  curtain  of  a 
grassy  grave !" 

ACT  III. 

The  next  day  found  no  change  in  Elinor, 
and  found  us  again  with  the  policemen,  hunt- 
ing Chinatown.  Standing  on  corners  while  a 
drove  of  coolies  passed,  crowding  and  bleating 


124      ®1)£  Dramatic  in 


like  sheep,  or  the  din  of  funeral  music  jarred 
on  our  nerves  ;  down  in  cellars,  damp  and 
green  and  gloomy  as  sea-caves,  and  the  roar  of 
the  city  overhead  not  unlike  that  of  the  sea  ; 
up  on  roofs  as  cheerless  to  live  on  as  leafless 
trees,  but  full  of  coolies,  like  chattering  mon- 
keys —  no  jungle  of  a  Chinese  forest  less  fit 
for  human  life.  And  through  it  all  I  was 
haunted  by  thoughts  of  happy  hours  I  had 
passed  with  Elinor,  which  came  back  like 
scenes  in  another  life,  as  if  I  had  already  gone 
down  to  hell  —  dewy  garden-alleys  with  foun- 
tains and  whispering  shrubs,  blossoms  and 
bird-songs,  radiance,  bloom  and  sweet  scent, 
all  that  gave  a  charm  to  life  —  unlike  this  foul 
quarter  as  a  perfect  poem  to  vile  doggerel, 
music  to  discord,  light  to  dark.  One  China- 
man we  saw  everywhere  ;  on  a  corner  across 
the  way;  at  the  head  of  steps  as  we  were 
coming  up  ;  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  when  we 
were  on  a  roof  ;  bowing  at  a  shrine  with  gold 
and  saffron  legends  and  scarlet  streamers  round 
the  door,  and  through  the  dim  inner  light  and 
scent  of  burning  sandal-wood,  the  gleam  of 
tinsel  and  flare  of  lamp,  before  an  ugly  image  ; 
in  one  of  what  Brande  called  their  chop-(stick)- 
houses,  feasting  on  shark's-fin  or  bird's-nest 
soup  ;  watching  a  group  in  a  wash-house  who 


^Dramatic  in  Jtts  ^Jesting.      125 


play  Fi-fi  to  see  who  shall  pay  for  a  treat  of 
tea;  in  a  barber-shop,  among  those  undergoing 
dainty  cleansing  of  eyes,  ears,  and  nostrils, 
trimming  and  penciling  of  eye'brows  and 
lashes  ;  or  at  a  market-stall  (kept  in  the  win- 
dow of  some  other  kind  of  shop),  haggling  for 
pork,  or  fish,  or  fowl  —  its  only  stock;  always 
in  the  background  of  our  scene,  even  in  the 
theatre,  watching  the  ground  and  lofty  tum- 
bling, until  the  crowd  and  noise  and  bad  air 
forced  us  to  leave,  when,  as  I  came  out  last  of 
our  party,  I  nearly  fell  over  him. 

"  Tong-ko-lin-sing  !  " 

"Why  all  this  trouble  for  a  woman?"  he 
asked,  gravely.  "  Women  are  plenty,  for  to 
become  one  is  a  future  punishment  of  ours  for 
sin  when  men.  I  have  seen  her  with  you; 
she  wore  the  tiger's-claw  jewelry  you  got 
through  me.  Like  most  American  women,  she 
would  not  make  a  *  mother  of  Meng,'  our  wise 
woman,  who  has  passed  into  a  proverb.  Then 
she  wore  black,  which  is  ill-luck  for  body  and 
mind." 

Nothing  could  have  better  set  off  Elinor's 
golden  hair  and  fresh.  daisy-bloom  than  the 
soft  laces  and  black  velvet  she  had  so  often 
worn  beside  me  at  concert  or  play.  I  could 
almost  see  her  again  with  me  at  the  thought. 


i26      ®I)e  ^Dramatic  in 


I  drew  a  deep  sigh.  "  Where  is  Si-ki?"  I 
cried,  making  a  vain  clutch  at  Tong-ko-lin- 
sing's  sleeve.  But  the  others  had  turned  back 
for  me,  and  my  Chinese  teacher's  jacket  and 
cap  of  black  astrakhan  fur  soon  melted  into 
the  darkness  of  some  too  near  alley.  Had  he 
followed  us  all  day  from  mere  curiosity,  or 
could  he  help  us?  We  went  to  his  door,  but 
knocked  in  vain,  though  we  all  saw  a  line  of 
light  under  his  door  as  we  went  upstairs,  not 
there  when  we  came  down.  Disheartened, 
we  went  home.  Elinor  had  not  changed.  We 
could  not  try  to  sleep,  but  sat  in  my  room. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Brande,  "  you  looked  as  full 
of  life  and  joy  as  you  did  the  last  time  I  saw 
you  come  home  with  Miss  Elinor." 

"O  Noel!"  1  cried,  "if  I  could  but  live  over 
that  last  happy  day,  when  to  see  her  by  me 
was  thrilling  as  music,  when  to  breathe  the 
same  air  was  exciting  as  wine  !  " 

"  Like  Socrates  under  the  plane-tree,"  he 
mused,  "  'borne  away  by  a  divine  impression 
coming  from  this  lovely  place.'  " 

1  'Yes,"  I  said;  "life  was  all  changed,  my 
soul  was  no  more  pent  by  bodily  bounds,  my 
eyes  saw  everything  by  an  inner  light  which 
made  all  fair." 

"That  reminds   me,"  said   he,   "of   some 


JUramatic  in  ittg  Resting.      127 


verses  about  the  picture  over   Miss   Elinor's 
piano." 

He  searched  his  note-book,  found,  and  read  : 

0 

AN  INTERLUDE. 

Tall  candles  and  a  wood-fire's  fitful  burning 
Seem  like  a  spell  to  conjure  from  the  wall 

One  picture's  living  eyes,  which,  though  returning 
To  shadows  that  engulf,  hold  me  in  thrall. 

Against  the  wall  a  sad  musician  leaning 
Across  the  strings  has  lain  caressing  bow, 

But  pauses  for  some  thought  that  intervening 
Yet  holds  him  waiting,  listening  so. 

As  if  of  life  so  near,  yet  far  on-flowing, 

Some  consciousness  had  thrilled  and  made  him  know 
And  long  to  step  into  the  circle,  showing 

Such  charmed  one  within  the  hearth-fire's  glow. 

My  life,  like  his,  is  picturesque,  transcending 
What  can  be  felt,  or  heard,  or  seen,  except 

When  passing  flashes  of  emotion,  lending 
Some  added  senses,  over  me  have  swept. 

More  sad,  more  glad,  and  more  enchanting  — 

And  my  existence  may  to  angels  seem 
Like  that  of  phantom  through  dim  vapors  flaunting, 

Forever  near  some  vague,  elusive  dream. 

Perchance  they  mark  me  pause  and  look  and  listen, 
In  some  bright  moment's  exaltation  brief, 

As  if,  though  circling  shadows  oft  imprison, 
My  music  waits  but  for  a  turning  leaf  ! 


i28      ®l)£  Dramatic  in  ills 


'"Spirits  in  prison/"  said  I;  "where  do 
you  think  they  go  when  first  set  free?  —  to 
another  world,  or  to  the  dearest  friend  in 
this?" 

"  That  would  depend,"  he  answered,  "upon 
the  kind  of  spirit  that  goes.  One  like  Miss 
Elinor  now  —  " 

"Do  not  speak  of  her  death,"  I  cried; 
"though  I  have  thought  before  that  you  did 
not  like  her." 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  I  do  not,  but  with  no  rea- 
son. It  is  a  mere  feeling  that  repels,  and  did 
at  first  sight,  lovely  as  she  is.  I  need  not 
speak  of  her  death  to  say  that  her  spirit  is  one 
that  would—" 

I  started.  Elinor  had  come  in  at  the  door 
behind  him,  and  stood  looking  at  me,  making 
a  sign  of  caution,  as  if  she  did  not  wish  Brande 
to  know  of  her  presence.  What  had  brought 
her  to  my  room?  She  looked  very  shadowy 
in  sweeping,  misty  robes  and  floating  hair. 
Perhaps  she  was  not  in  her  right  mind.  I  was 
sorely  vexed  to  have  Brande  see  her  come  to 
me.  I  had  even  wild  thoughts  of  blindfolding 
him,  while  she  should  have  time  to  flee. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked.  "  You  look  as  if 
you  saw  a  ghost." 

"Nothing,"   I  faltered.     While  I  wondered 


Dramatic  in  4ft  2  Westing.      129 


what  was  best  to  do,  she  looked  anxiously  at 
me,  and  made  motions  toward  Brande,  as  if  I 
meant  to  do  him  mortal  harm,  as  if  warning 
me  back  from  a  crime.  Such  strange  move- 
ments perplexed  me,  so  that,  seeing  my  ab- 
sorbed gaze,  Brande  looked  behind  him. 

"What  do  you  see?"  he  cried,  as  he 
turned,  and  to  my  horror  added,  "  there  is 
nothing  here!" 

Had  he  gone  mad,  or  had  I? 

"  Don't  you  see  her?"  I  gasped,  hardly  able 
to  get  on  my  feet,  for  a  sinking  at  my  heart 
seemed  to  root  me  to  my  chair. 

"  Poor  fellow!  "  he  said  to  himself  in  pity. 
"He  has  lost  his  wits!  See,  my  boy,"  he 
said  to  me,  rising  and  walking  toward  her. 
"  Empty  space,  all  empty  space." 

He  swung  his  arms  about  him,  but  she 
moved  swiftly  toward  me,  still  with  the  same 
air  of  warning  me,  then  paused  and  spread 
her  arms,  as  if  to  keep  us  apart. 

"Elinor!  What  is  it?  Speak!"  I  cried, 
rushing  toward  her. 

But  Brande  caught  me  in  his  arms,  and  by 
main  force  bore  me  to  a  chair  in  spite  of  my 
struggles  and  prayers.  A  look  of  despair  came 
in  her  face.  Her  warnings  doubled  in  zeal  and 
number. 


130      Stye  ^Dramatic  in  ills 


"  Let  me  go!"  I  panted. 

"  I  cannot  let  you  dash  your  brains  out 
against  the  wall/*  he  said. 

I  made  one  more  vain  strain  to  leave  my 
seat.  He  held  me  in  a  grasp  of  iron. 

"  What  shall  I  do?"  he  groaned  to  himself, 
and  turned  white  about  the  lips,  for  unseen  I 
had  made  out  to  draw  my  pistol  from  my 
pocket,  and  now  suddenly  held  it  toward  him. 

"  Yorke  Rhys  !  "  he  shouted,  but  did  not  let 
go  his  hold. 

How  can  I  tell  it?  The  room  turned  black 
to  me.  Then  I  found  Elinor  had  fled,  and  my 
friend  lay  at  my  feet  with  a  bullet  through  his 
heart  ! 

I  have  a  confused  remembrance  of  the  board- 
ers rushing  in.  I  knew  the  glint  of  the  French 
lady's  diamond  ear-drops,  and  the  down  on  her 
opera-cloak,  just  from  the  theatre,  the  wrought 
band  of  the  German  professor's  smoking-cap, 
and  the  palm-leaves  on  the  Spanish  lady's 
cashmere  shawl,  thrown  over  her  night-robes 
as  she  came  from  her  bed.  They  thought 
Brande  had  shot  himself,  for  I  sat  there 
vaguely  asking  over  and  over  : 

"  Why  did  he  doit?" 

There  was  a  murmur  of  "Don't  tell  him." 
The  crowd  gave  way  for  Elinor's  aunt,  who 


JBramatic  in  iftfj  ^testing.      131 


came  and  laid  my  head  against  her  breast  in 
dear  motherly  fashion. 

"  What  does  Elinor  want?"  I  asked.  "She 
has  just  been  here." 

She  only  said,  "Poor  boy!"  and  smoothed 
my  hair. 

Something  in  their  faces  smote  me  with 
dread.  "He  is  out  of  his  head!"  they 
whispered. 

"  Tell  me,"  I  urged,  "where  is  Elinor?  She 
was  here  just  now." 

The  Spanish  and  the  French  lady  looked  in- 
quiringly at  Elinor's  aunt.  I  turned  my  face 
up  to  hers  just  in  time  ere  I  lost  my  senses  (or 
did  that  make  me  faint?)  to  see  her  lips  shape 
the  words  : 

"  Elinor  died  just  now  !  " 


ACT  IV. 

I  lay  on  my  bed,  dimly  aware  of  a  long, 
slow  lapse  of  time.  Was  it  of  weeks,  months, 
or  years?  I  could  not  tell.  Sometimes  I  saw 
the  sunshine  veer  round  the  room,  and  knew 
day  after  day  passed,  but  not  how  many. 
Some  of  the  boarders  came  and  went,  to  my 
dull  senses  like  visions  in  dreams :  the  French 
lady,  trim  and  straight,  nodded  and  twinkled 


132      ®l)£  HOratnalic  in  IUj]  Resting. 

past,  whiffs  from  the  German  professor's  pipe 
curled  near  me,  the  tinkle  of  the  Spanish  lady's 
guitar  rang  faint  and  far.  Elinor's  aunt  had 
often  shaken  and  smoothed  my  pillow,  but  I 
did  not  know  why  nor  how  I  came  to  be  in 
this  weak  state  of  mind  and  body,  and  no  one 
spoke  of  it  to  me  even  after  I  could  sit  up,  till 
one  day  Nora  brought  me  a  folded  page  of 
note-paper,  which,  she  said,  fell  from  my 
clothes  when  I  was  undressed  the  night  I 
fainted,  and  she  had  kept  it  for  me,  "  because 
it  had  Miss  Elinor's  writing  on  it."  It  was 
"The  Lost  Pleiad."  All  my  weight  of  woe 
dropped  on  me  anew.  I  knew  what  star  had 
fallen  from  my  sky. 

"  You  kept  it  for  me  all  this  time?"  I  said, 
as  I  gave  her  some  money.  "  I  suppose  I  was 
sick  some  weeks." 

"Months,"  she  answered. 

I  sighed.  How  much  in  debt  such  long  idle- 
ness and  illness  must  have  brought  me  !  And 
I  must  have  lost  my  chance  for  work  in  China. 
Letters  must  be  written.  I  opened  my  desk. 
It  had  not  been  locked,  and  a  pile  of  receipted 
board  and  doctor's  bills  I  had  never  seen  lay 
in  it,  with  a  letter  dated  the  very  day  that 
Elinor— that  Noel— that  I  fell  ill,  from  Brande's 
friends  on  California  Street.  It  told  me  that 


Dramatic  in  £tt£  HJestinrj.      133 


through  his  strong  efforts  I  was  given  a  place 
with  them,  which  made  sure  the  income  I  had 
longed  for  to  let  me  marry  and  stay  in  my  own 
country.  They  had  kept  the  place'waiting  for 
me,  and  meanwhile  paid  my  bills.  Through 
Brande's  influence  !  And  I  had  killed  my  best 
friend  !  I  gasped  for  air,  opened  the  windows 
and  walked  the  room.  I  could  trace  my  troubles 
all  back  to  that  infernal  Si-ki.  Hastily  making 
ready,  I  stole  out  unseen,  and  rushed  to  Tong- 
ko-lin-sing.  As  I  went  in,  his  Tien-Sien  lark 
was  filling  the  room  with  its  song,  standing  on 
the  floor  of  its  cage,  which  was  on  the  table  in 
front  of  his  master,  who  sat  reading  in  his 
bamboo  easy  -chair.  Tong-ko-lin-sing  was 
struck  with  the  change  in  me,  and  wished  to 
talk  of  it. 

"I  must  find  Si-ki,"  I  said. 

"  In  a  field  of  melons  do  not  pull  up  your 
shoes,"  said  he;  "under  a  plum-tree  do  not 
adjust  your  cap.  If  I  go  with  you,  it  will  look 
as  if  I  knew  where  to  find  him.  I  do  not." 

"You  can  find  him.  You  must  hunt  for 
him,"  I  persisted. 

It  was  like  talking  to  a  blank  wall.  He  was 
unmoved  except  to  ask  : 

"  The  lady—  ?" 

"  Is  dead.     I  must  find  Si-ki." 


134      &l)£  Dramatic  in  Jftj)  Resting. 

Quite  shocked  that  I  should  be  so  straight- 
forward, he  said:  "She  has  ascended  to  the 
skies?'' 

I  nodded  impatiently. 

"  To  what  sublime  religion  did  she  belong?" 
he  asked. 

I  told  him.  I  piled  a  small  heap  of  gold  and 
silver  on  the  table  under  his  eyes. 

He  spoke  in  high  praise  of  her  faith,  but 
added : 

"  Religions  are  many.  Reason  is  one.  We 
are  all  brothers." 

While  speaking,  he  put  the  money  out  of 
sight,  hung  up  the  bird-cage,  and  opened  his 
door. 

We  searched  parts  of  Chinatown  which 
would  have  been  barred  to  me  without  a  Chi- 
nese comrade ;  underground  depths,  like  the 
abysses  after  death ;  upper  stories  and  roofs  of 
buildings  that  towered  in  air  as  if  striving  for 
space  to  breathe;  narrow,  crooked  alleys, 
where  loungers  talked  across  from  windows 
about  the  American  straying  there,  and 
seemed  to  think  I  was  led  by  Tong-ko-lin-sing 
because  in  some  way  his  prisoner.  He  offered 
odd  trifles  from  the  depths  of  his  sleeves,  in 
small  pawn-shops,  which  held  queer  gather- 
ings—  pistols  of  all  styles,  daggers,  even  the 


Dramatic  in  Jfls  SDestinj).      135 


fan-stiletto,  clothes,  beds  and  bedding,  tea, 
sugar,  clocks,  china,  and  ornaments.  He 
called  on  large  warehouses,  where  the  heads 
of  great  firms  met  us  ;  and  behind  huge  jars 
the  size  of  men,  wrought  silk  screens,  giant 
kites,  odd  baskets,  and  gay  china,  but  not  be- 
yond the  queer  foreign  scent  of  such  stores, 
we  were  given  rare  tea  in  tiny  cups  holding 
no  more  than  our  dessert-spoons.  He  drew 
me  through  woody  ards  and  vegetable  gardens, 
and  over  fish-dryers'  sheds.  All  knew  and 
looked  up  to  Tong-ko-lin-sing  as  one  who  knew 
the  written  language,  but  could  not  help  him. 
He  went  to  the  Six  Companies;  but  neither 
the  Ning  Yang,  which  owns  the  most  men  in 
San  Francisco,  nor  the  Sam  Yup,  which  sends 
the  most  men  to  other  States  ;  neither  the  Hop 
Wo,  nor  the  Kong  Chow,  nor  the  other  two, 
nor  the  great  washhouse  company,  could  or 
would  tell  us  anything.  One  after  another  he 
asked  the  throng  of  small  curbstone  dealers, 
the  pipe-cleaners,  cigarette-rollers,  vegetable 
or  sweetmeat  venders,  and  cobblers,  even  the 
gutter-snipes. 

At  last,  the  cobbler  who  always  sits  on  the 
south  side  of  Clay  Street,  just  below  Dupont, 
told  him  something  which  1  did  not  catch,  but 
he  heard  with  a  start.  He  wavered  and  urged 


136      QLtye  ^Dramatic  in 


me  to  give  up  the  search.  I  would  not.  He 
set  off  a  new  way,  and  soon  darted  into  an 
alley  full  of  the  grimy,  blackened  buildings 
which  can  never  be  used  after  the  Chinese 
have  lived  in  them,  whose  dark  horrors  re- 
called some  scene  elsewhere  known  —  in  what 
past  age?  I  saw  round  me  only  the  signs  of  a 
civilization  older  than  the  Pharaohs.  I  heard 
the  twang  and  squeak  of  rude  instruments, 
which,  two  thousand  years  before  the  three- 
stringed  rebec  (sire  of  our  violin)  was  heard  in 
Italy,  played  in  balmy  tea-gardens  these  same 
old  songs  of  love,  difficulty,  and  despair.  Here 
crowded  the  strange  buildings,  here  crouched 
the  quaint  shadows  of  an  Oriental  city,  known 
to  me  —  when?  where?  in  some  dark-hued 
picture? 

As  Tong-ko-lin-sing  started  down  some 
breakneck  steps,  I  stopped  a  moment  for 
breath,  and  looked  around  me.  A  street-lamp 
lighted  a  Chinese  poster  close  by  me,  a  signed 
and  sealed  notice  from  the  Chin  Mook  Sow 
society,  offering  a  thousand  dollars,  not  for  the 
taking  of  two  offenders,  but  for  their  assassina- 
tion !  I  shuddered  and  crawled  down  the  nar- 
row, shaky  stairs.  On  the  last  landing  from 
which  I  could  see  the  narrow  strip  of  sky,  I 
looked  up.  Two  great  golden  planets  watched 


SEtye  Dramatic  in  iHg  iDestinjj.      137 

me.  I  groaned  and  went  on.  I  felt  the  crooks 
of  this  under-world  soon  shut  all  out,  like  a 
coffin-lid.  My  love  was  dead.  My  friend  was 
murdered.  I  cursed  aloud.  I  followed  Tong- 
ko-lin-sing  only  by  the  strained  tension  of  my 
nerves,  through  which  I  saw  him  in  the  dark, 
as  plain  as  if  in  light,  and  heard  him  mutter- 
ing in  Chinese,  monotonous  as  the  shrilling 
of  the  wind  far  overhead.  He  went  in  at  a 
door — through  a  long  passage  that  had  a 
strange  smell  that  made  me  feel  faint,  a  smell 
of  death — till,  after  a  moment's  pause,  as  if 
to  make  sure  he  was  right,  and  giving  me  a 
warning  touch,  he  opened  a  door  into  a  dimly 
lighted  den,  while  the  sickening  scent  grew 
worse. 

"Si-ki!"  he  called. 

What  was  this  ghostly  form,  white  as  a 
skeleton,  which  slowly  glimmered  through  the 
gloom  before  my  amazed  eyes?  Dizzy  from 
the  fetid  scent,  yet  held  by  my  horror  as  by 
transfixing  spear,  with  failing  heart  and  quak- 
ing limbs,  I  saw  the  ghastly  figure  cross  the 
rotten,  slimy  floor  toward  us. 

"  My  dream !  My  dream  I'M  murmured  as 
I  clung  to  Tong-ko-lin-sing  for  support. 

An  awful  voice,  discordant  as  a  Chinese 
gong,  the  hollow  voice  of  a  leper,  a  voice  un- 


138      &l)e  Dramatic  in  illg 


earthly  as   if    we   had   been   shades   met  in 
another  world,  cried: 

"  Between  us  two  !     Between  us  two!" 


A  GRACIOUS  VISITATION. 


A  GRACIOUS  VISITATION. 


All  those  strange  things  and  secret  decrees  and  unrevealed  trans- 
actions, which  are  above  the  clouds  and  far  beyond  the  regions  of 
the  stars,  shall  combine  In  ministry.— Jeremy  Taylor. 

Who  sleeps  on  graves,  rises  mad,  or  a  poet.—  Tzigane  Proverb. 


S33 


£ 


'    PPP 

The  first  time  so  faint  and  far  that  I  could 
not  tell  it  from  the  hauntings  of  the  inner  ear 
known  to  all  musicians,  the  chance  strains 
evoked  for  me  by  the  differing  keys  of  the  fog 
signals. 

I  lived  in  a  region  of  remote  sounds.  On 
Russian  Hill  I  looked  down  as  from  a  balloon; 
all  there  is  of  the  stir  of  the  city  comes  in  dis- 
tant bells  and  whistles,  changing  their  sound, 
just  as  the  scenery  moves,  according  to  the 
state  of  the  atmosphere.  The  islands  shift  as 
if  enchanted,  now  near  and  plain,  then  re- 
moved and  dim.  The  bay  widening,  sapphire 
blue,  or  narrowing,  green  and  gray,  or,  before 


142  &  (Orations  Visitation. 

a  storm,  like  quicksilver.  The  hills  over  the 
water  drawing  close,  green  or  snowy,  showing 
whether  their  buildings  miles  away  are  of 
brick  or  wood,  or  all  is  thrust  into  blue  dis- 
tance, or  brushed  away,  a  bank  of  fog  looking 
as  if  the  world  reached  no  farther.  The  city 
lights  twinkling  of  long  lines  of  romances  or 
hidden  by  the  gray  slides  that  shut  off  all  in 
life  but  the  wails  of  warning  to  the  sailors. 
Great  heat  spreading  stretches,  as  of  piles 
of  white  wool  upon  the  water.  Sharp  edges 
everywhere  bringing  the  city  huddling  into 
itself,  as  in  fear  of  the  coming  storm.  It 
is  like  having  genii  for  companions,  so  pictur- 
esque and  constantly  varying  are  the  alternate 
movement  and  exchange  of  currents  from  the 
sea  of  air  and  the  sea  of  water,  tremendous 
forces  of  life,  showing  me  personality,  pulse 
and  arteries,  as  traced  by  Maury,  who  even 
suggests  for  the  ocean  a  heart — the  equator. 
Their  companionship  enlarges  and  enriches  the 
mind,  the  air  uplifting  with  its  symbolic  effects, 
the  sea  responding  to  movements  of  far-off 
worlds,  and  a  highway  for  distant  nations. 

I  watched  not  only  our  steamers  and  ferry- 
boats and  yacht-races,  like  a  flock  of  white 
birds  hovering  over  the  blue,  but  Arctic 
whaler,  South  Sea  trader,  Mexican,  Chilean, 


21  ©rations  tJisitatian.  143 

and  Peruvian  coaster,  Chinese  junk,  Austra- 
lian and  Japanese  merchantmen,  Malay prahu, 
double-decker,  corvette,  frigate,  men-of-war 
under  all  flags. 

Never  again  my  husband's  ship,  never 
again ! 

To  have  my  house  full  of  curios  he  had 
brought  from  long  voyages,  and  to  be  able  to 
always  look  at  the  shipping  on  the  water,  was 
some  comfort  for  the  sore  heart  that  sought 
loneliness  as'  a  wounded  animal  hides.  At 
first  there  were  long,  wakeful  nights,  when  I 
sat  in  my  window,  till  the  harbor-lights  grew 
like  dear  friends.  Gradual  healing  came,  in 
the  stillness  which  makes  the  town,  although 
within  stone's  throw  below,  seem  yet  un- 
built; on  the  pure  blasts  from  mid-ocean 
spaces  where  none  have  breathed ;  in  the  gor- 
geous sunsets  that  give  the  meanest  Cinde- 
rella the  freedom  of  fairy  cities ;  in  never-to- 
be-forgotten  cloud  effects,  as  when  the  aerial 
sea  hints  knowledge  of  ocean  depths,  showing 
mackerel  spots  or  the  Pope's  signet,  once,  a 
perfect  skeleton  of  a  whale,  and,  before  a  tem- 
pest, a  gigantic,  livid  hand,  with  its  Saturn 
finger  torn  out,  pointed  long  toward  the  Golden 
Gate,  as  if  calling  up  a  gale,  or  signalling  its 
coming  from  thousands  of  miles  at  sea.  Often 


i44  21  Gracious  bisitation. 

the  whole  sky  was  of  such  terrific  import  that 
I  feared  Michelet's  waves,  like  a  mob  of  eye- 
less, earless  beasts,  foaming  at  the  mouth,  de- 
manding universal  death,  suppression  of  the 
earth,  and  return  to  chaos;  but  I  learned  that 
a  dread  menace  of  the  sky  may  mean  nothing 
here,  ending  in  dire  effects  on  distant  waters. 
I  had  no  longer  to  fear  for  my  husband's  ship. 
I  could  enjoy  seeing  a  storm  sweep  in,  slowly 
blotting  Gate,  Presidio,  Tamalpais,  and  Angel 
Island,  in  my  view  hours  before  its  descent 
upon  the  eastern  side  of  the  town ;  or  black 
clouds  as  of  thunder  over  Tamalpais  fringe 
into  trailing  wreaths  like  smoke  that  blow  in- 
land, shaking  loose  rafter  and  blind,  and 
rattling  door-lock;  or  hearing  a  gale  beating 
doors  and  windows,  threatening  down  the 
chimney,  straining  to  lift  the  whole  house, 
and  shrieking  in  wrath  about  it. 

All  this  made  the  busy  streets  very  dull. 
Born  with  a  sort  of  temperamental  hasheesh  in 
my  veins  which  makes  a  book  affect  like  a 
whirlwind,  a  picture  soothe  as  manna  from 
Heaven,  a  piece  of  music  seem  crushing  disas- 
ter, I  lived  in  exciting  times,  as  if  always  look- 
ing on  at  the  opera  of  the  Flying  Dutchman. 
This  led  to  my  rhyming  about  one  of  its  airs. 


Orarious  faisitation.  145 


SPINNING  SONG. 

Wagntr-Listz. 

I  turn  the  wheel  of  thrumming  whir, 

Hear  tread  of  life  and  love  and  hate. 
I  burn,  I  feel  through  humming  stir 
The  thread  is  rife  with  grief  and  fate. 
Witch-cat  light  purring,  purrring  light, 
Breathe  of  high  wind  by  wizard  sold, 
White  horses'  flight  in  rushing  might 
By  lashing  blast  alone  controlled. 

Yo-ho-ho-ho!     Yo-ho-ho-ho! 

Far  sailor-cries  float,  dinning  long, 
Blend  billowy,  fray  in  thinning  throng, 

I  thrill,  I  play  the  spinning  song. 

Twirl,  wheel,  whose  magic  moan  and  drone 

Shades  golden  hope  with  tint  of  gloom. 
Whirl,  wheel,  whose  tragic  monotone 
Braids  holden  scope  with  hint  of  doom. 
The  wheel— the  wheel— the  wheel— the  wheel- 

Dream-spinner  moving  to  and  fro  — 
Night  hours  reveal  a  plunging  keel 
Where  rolling  gale  and  breakers  blow. 

Yo-ho-ho-ho!     Yo-ho-ho-ho  / 

Far  sailor-cries  float,  dinning  long, 
Veer  billowy,  stray  in  thinning  throng. 

Sheer  thrill,  I  play  the  spinning  song. 

Roll,  fashion  murmur,  in  thy  gyre, 

Of  seashells'  muffling,  that  is  yet 
Dole,  passion,  all  the  world's  desire, 

Brief  foam-bells  ruffling  our  veins'  fret 


146  31  <S>rtui0us  tositation. 


Glide,  slurring,  slurring  wheel,  go  round, 

Mock  cordage-wail  of  fated  sail 
Make  blurring,  blurring  of  a  sound 

As  if  all  frail  hearts  did  bewail. 

Yo-ho-ho-ho!     Yo-ho-ho-ho! 

Far  sailor-cries  float,  dinning  long, 
Blown  billowy,  spray  in  thinning  throng. 

I  thrill,  I  play  the  spinning  song. 

In  vain  my  friends,  toiling  up  to  see  me, 
urged  me  to  move,  saying  it  was  not  safe  for 
me  to  live  there  alone.  I  never  felt  lonely. 
If  not  playing  or  reading,  I  had  my  reveries. 
In  these,  since  living  here,  the  same  scenes 
came  again  and  again,  as  if  people  sitting  by 
me  had  always  the  same  thoughts  which  I 
grew  to  know,  as  my  husband  and  I  from  long 
companionship  read  each  other's  minds.  I  saw 
granite  quays,  a  vast  city  of  miles  of  straight 
lines,  utterly  flat;  against  its  pale  sky  minarets 
and  domes  of  pink  and  gray,  as  of  great  Baby- 
lon blushing  into  view  through  the  mhst  of 
time.  Was  I  looking  through  telescope  at  a 
dead  world,  or  was  this  an  immense,  vague, 
dreary  marsh?  A  bog,  snow- weighted  alders 
and  willows  here  and  there,  and  endless  rows 
of  stakes  along  a  plank-road.  Big  moose  with 
branching  antlers,  wolves  shaggy  and  dark, 
outlined  against  a  moon-lit  horizon.  Black 


&  (Sracions  i)isilation.  147 

troops  of  ravens  and  crows,  blown,  upset, 
borne  off  helpless  in  zigzag  trailing  through 
sheets  of  storm  like  a  fall  of  white  fox  fur. 
High  terraces  of  birch  and  maple  lengthening 
into  scattered  pines,  and  yet  fewer  firs;  then 
the  silence  of  centuries  felt  under  the  copper 
moon,  beside  the  rivers  of  molten  silver  of  a 
polar  night.  Sledge,  barge,  caravan.  A  lonely 
ship  becalmed  upon  her  tremulous  reflection 
countless  fathoms  below,  white  upon  the  dark- 
ness of  night,  with  stars  glancing  amid  the  rig- 
ging. A  vessel  rolling  with  slanting  spar  and 
swelling  canvas,  flying  through  the  foam  of  a 
wild  wash  leaping  windward.  A  knot  of  sailor- 
faces,  lowering  and  heavily  lined,  swaying 
with  the  bound  of  the  ship  and  showing  by 
fitful  light  of  a  swinging  lamp  below  deck. 
An  island  with  tufted  tree-tops,  and  beach  so 
white  as  to  dazzle. 


^ 


9* 


PP 

The  second  time  I  heard  it  with  quick  re- 
membrance. An  old  French  sea-song  which 
Richepin  calls  that  master-piece  of  an  un- 
known, a  revelation  of  man  and  high  soul- 
tides;  the  words  are  few,  the  notes  but  five, 
the  refrain  only  traderi  tra  lanlaire  et  trouloula. 


148  21  Gracious  Visitation 

yet,  as  he  says,  all  the  sea,  the  breath  of 
space,  cries  from  wrecks,  the  mirth  and  the 
terror  of  the  sailor's  hard  life  are  there,  and 
heard  at  sunset  it  has  the  melancholy  grandeur 
of  an  evocation  of  Night.  How  often  my  hus- 
band and  I  had  together  listened  to  it,  the 
favorite  " chantez"  of  a  French  sailor  who 
voyaged  with  him  for  years !  Ah  !  that  very 
day  the  Russian  priest  had  read  in  my  face  a 
famished  heart. 

Looking  down  upon  the  Latin  Quarter,  with 
its  rows  of  prim  Boston  houses,  its  Mexican 
corner-stores,  its  French  tiny  conservatory- 
fronts,  the  buildings  showing  the  mingling  of 
foreign  elements  in  its  people,  "the  character- 
istic Russian  fleck  of  gold  upon  green"  shows 
the  Greek  church.  I  liked  to  go  there  some- 
times, for  the  reverent  attitude  of  a  standing 
congregation,  the  priests  in  picturesque  hats 
and  brocade  robes,  upon  carpets  spread  for 
them,  the  swinging  censer,  burning  tapers,  and 
chanting  of  stately  music  of  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury, allowing  neither  voice  of  organ  nor  of 
woman.  Here  I  listened  to  a  relic  of  days  of 
hiding  in  catacombs,  the  thrilling  Greater 
Compline,  with  its  striking  effect  of  choirs 
upon  opposite  sides  bandying  like  a  ball  four 
exultant  words.  The  choirs  alternate  through 


21  ©radons  tHsitation.  149 

twenty-six  phrases,  all  ending  in  "  God  is  with 
us!"  which  is  at  last  sung  by  the  united 
voices.  It  is  like  hearing  the  earnest  prophet 
Isaiah  himself,  for  his  are  the  words.  Thus  I 
came  to  know  one  of  the  priests,  a  stately  old 
man  whose  look  was  that  of  a  human-faced 
bull  of  Nineveh.  I  like  to  think  I  had  a  share 
in  what  Aivasovky  painted,  that  arrival  of 
relief  from  America  to  the  famine-stricken 
Riazan.  By  hard  work  I  was  able  to  collect  a 
large  sum  for  that  fund.  When,  on  this  day,  I 
gave  it  to  the  priest  he  said,  after  thanking  me : 
"  You  have  a  sad  face,  Mrs.  Trevelyan. 
Few  of  us  get  through  this  battle  of  life  un- 
scarred.  I  have  known  so  many,  so  many  of 
the  wounded.  To  those  who  live  here  for 
years  it  is  a  city  of  haunted  corners,  haunted 
not  only  by  our  own  old  footsteps  and  hopes 
that  rose  and  fell  to  their  beat,  but  by 
knowledge  that  here  was  a  suicide,  there  a 
murder,  hither  and  yon  the  vague  "  found 
dead."  You  look  like  a  Russian  friend  of 
years  ago.  It  is  one  of  those  chance  resem- 
blances of  face,  or  figure,  or  voice,  that  are  so 
strange — so  sweet — so  sad.  For  life  has  its 
haunted  corners,  too,  with  their  own  tragedies. 
Bitter  is  a  famine  of  the  heart !  I  shall  pray 
for  your  peace." 


150  21  (£>rcm0B0  fcisitatiott. 

His  lofty,  Mithraic  head-gear  did  not  mar 
the  remains  of  romantic  blonde  beauty.  As  I 
looked  at  him  I  wondered  what  heartbreak  he 
had  known  or  caused.  He  gave  me  a  costly 
icon,  the  Madonna  and  Child  with  gold-winged 
angels  round  them,  all  the  faces  finely  painted 
on  porcelain,  and  silver  arabesques  hiding  the 
figures. 

On  my  way  home  I  went  on  the  green  hill- 
top. All  the  southern  portion  of  the  city  was 
shrouded  in  smoke,  it  towered  above  in  the 
Afrite  columns  of  the  Arabian  Nights,  it  spread 
low  like  a  tumultuous  ocean,  no  more  of  the 
town  in  sight  than  as  if  the  Last  Hour  had 
long  been  burning  it.  Against  the  east  side  of 
the  Swedenborgian  minister's  hermitage  a  tall 
clump  of  scarlet  passion-flowers  added  its 
solemn  legend  to  the  scene.  It  was  a  purple 
and  white  one  I  had  known  running  over  the 
door  of  my  eastern  home.  The  crown  of 
thorns,  sponge,  scourge,  nails,  and  five 
wounds  in  this  bloody  guise  cast  a  weird 
gloom  as  if  I  had  met  the  Witch  of  Endor. 
Grave  and  tired  I  turned  homeward.  The 
owner  of  a  fine  house  near  had  gone  abroad, 
the  care-taker,  a  sad  woman  who  had  known 
better  days,  stood  at  the  gate  as  I  passed. 

"  I  hate  to  go  in  ! "  said  she.     "  The  house 


31  <B>radotts  Visitation.  151 

looks  bigger  and  darker  and  more  lonesome 
every  night !  How  strange  it  is  that  you  are 
never  afraid !  There  has  been  so  much  crime 
here  lately,  too." 

I  said  some  cheering  words  to  her.  When  I 
reached  my  house  I  looked  back;  she  still 
stood  there.  I  thought  I  would  go  over  later 
and  keep  her  company  a  while. 

Alone,  thinking  of  her,  of  the  starving 
Russians,  and  of  the  priest's  words,  an  old 
" charm"  came  into  mind,  and  set  me  to 
rhyming  an  appeal,  not  for  myself  alone, 
though  worded  so,  but  meant  as  for  all 
stricken  and  despairing. 

THE  RUNE  OF  THE  HEALING. 

Come!  forces  of  an  ancient  "healing  charm/ 
Begged  of  soft  heart  and  lofty  soul  its  balm. 

Deeper  than  plummets  fall 
It  has  no  limitary, 

In  height  or  breadth  no  thrall : 
Help!  by  the  heart  of  Mary! 
Help!  by  the  soul  of  Paul! 

Aid,  O,  brave  mother-heart,  full  heart  of  Mary, 

For  one  decree  we  know : 

"A  sword  shall  pierce  through  thine  own  soul ! "    Nor 
vary 

Our  souls,  white  shields,  all  show 

Like  pure  Sir  Galahed's  — 

A  red  cross  come  and  go. 


152  &  Gracious  bisitction. 


Rossini's  Inflammatus ,  wild  appealing, 
Breathes,  fitly,  pathos,  passion,  depth  of  feeling, 
In  keen,  uplifting  ecstasy  revealing 

My  heart  inflamed  for  thee, 

Thy  heart  aglow  for  me ! 

Hear  both  mild  reed,  bluff  brass,  imploring,  soaring, 

"I  weep!  I  weep!  I  weep!" 
Ineffable  the  agony  adoring, 

Sigh  upon  sigh  doth  leap, 
Grief  rippling  eddy  spreads, 
The  strings  in  shudder  keep. 

"Because  unloved,  unloved,  goes  Love,  so  tender!" 
Let  me  be  one  with  thee,  Great  Heart — surrender — 
Melt  into  thee— there  let  me  glide  —  Befriender ! 
The  music-tide  at  neap- 
While  —  in  —  I  — trembling  —  creep  ! 

Kind  Powers  of  overwhelming  awe  and  might ! 
Immortal  allies  against  mortal  plight ! 

The  ages  cannot  pall 
Confiding  tributary 

That  cries  when  ills  befall  : 
Help!  by  the  heart  oj  Mary! 
Help  !  by  the  soul  of  Paul! 

Aid  me,  high  soul  of  Paul,  illuminating 

The  way  through  dark  and  mire. 
Soul  of  Initiate,  irradiating 

Cheer  from  Eternal  Fire. 

Like  pure  Sir  Galahad's, 

Thy  strength  can  never  tire. 


<3>rad0tis  Visitation.  153 


Thou  great  Intelligences  close  beholding, 

Thine  things  unseen,  and  the  unknown,  unfolding 

All  mysteries  that  life  and  death  are  moulding, 

To  thee  naught  can  be  dire,      0 

Thy  fervor  1  desire. 

Of  vast  depths  open  to  thy  thought's  entreating 

What  daring  hints  are  thine, 
Impassioned  mystic !  "  Grace  and  peace  "  thy  greeting, 

For  to  thy  wisdom  fine 

Move  with  commingling  threads 

The  earthly  and  divine. 
Thy  meditation  as  a  planet  beaming, 
Thy  intuition  like  a  meteor  streaming, 
Thy  revelation  light  from  Heaven  gleaming, 

Let  faith  and  hope  combine 

With  love,  the  greatest,  mine ! 

Heart 
That  grieved  and  pitieth  even  passing  smart  — 

Soul 
Caught  up  into  wide  vision  of  the  whole  — 

Hark  to  the  eager  call 
From  life  but  fragmentary 

To  love  fulfilling  all : 
Help!  by  the  heart  of  Mary! 
Help!  by  the  soul  of  Paul! 

I  went  to  a  window,  thinking  about  going  to 
cheer  the  care-taker,  and  the  sunset  kept  me 
there.  The  usual  bands  of  rose  and  turquoise 
of  our  twilight  horizon  were  not  to  be  seen; 
the  whole  sky  was  dappled  in  pink  as  often  by 


i54  21  (Stations  Visitation. 

day  in  white.  The  meaning  of  the  low-hang- 
ing smoke  was  shown.  The  air  was  in  a 
tumult  of  the  strange  symbolism  which  seems 
to  reveal  personality,  showing  broken  rainbow, 
fallen  castle,  ruined  bridge  in  the  sky  before 
a  storm.  Here  were  glimpses  of  palaces, 
churches,  monasteries  as  of  the  Kremlin  es- 
planade. None  of  the  sadness  of  Gothic  art, 
with  its  vain  upward  reaching,  but  the  true 
romance  of  Muscovite  architecture,  all  its  wild 
caprices  of  blue,  red,  and  apple-green,  of  rose- 
in-bloom  and  lily-in-bud  bell-towers,  gilded 
spires  and  cupolas,  rococo  and  Byzantine 
joined,  like  fantastic  freaks  of  frost,  and  here 
and  there  were  touches  of  snow.  There  was 
Frederick  the  Great's  room,  coated  with  amber, 
the  raised  parts  translucent;  here  the  famous 
pavement  of  agates.  Lovely  letters  of  the 
Russian  alphabet,  in  Greek  attitudes,  drifted 
in  line,  like  the  decorative  frieze  in  Oriental 
palaces.  Amid  a  crowd  of  half-revealed  figures, 
the  chief  one,  in  Byzantine  style,  three  times 
the  height  of  others,  even  seemed  to  carry  the 
long  sword  of  Paul. 


The  third  time,  the  name  flashed  upon  me, 


2t  ©rations  Visitation.  155 

the  Complaint  of  the  Three  Mariners.     Close 
by  came  men's  voices  in  cooing,  sputtering 
Russ.    Sailors  often  climbed  up  the  hill  to  look 
at  the  sea,  as  actors  enjoy  the  theatre. 
Now,  the  words  came  back  to  me : 

"We  were  two,  we  were  three, 
We  were  three  mariners 
Of  Groix." 

When  I  answered  a  knock  at  my  door  five 
unknown  Russians,  sailors,  by  their  bronzed 
faces  and  the  dress  of  three  of  them,  stood 
bowing  before  me. 

"Mrs.  Trevelyan,"  said  the  handsome 
leader,  a  haughty  Pole  in  fur  pelisse  and  cap, 
"my  name  is  Vladimir  Stroganoff.  I  am  the 
supercargo  of  the  Stormy  Petrel.  We  know 
of  your  interest  in  Russia  and  call  to  pay  our 
respects.'' 

The  second,  a  fine-looking  gentleman,  wore 
a  blue  coat  with  gold  buttons,  a  gold  plate  on 
the  shoulder  with  raised  crown  and  stars  and 
a  number,  and  a  very  white  flat-topped  cap. 
He  said:  "I  am  Boris  Volokhoff,  formerly  of 
the  Russian  navy;  later,  master  of  the  Jolly 
Polly." 

How  could  a  master-mariner's  widow  re- 
fuse? I  thought  they  knew  the  priest.  1  let 
them  in. 


156  Qi  ©racums  thoitation. 

The  third  was  a  big,  clumsy  man  of  over- 
bearing way,  with  a  whiskey-bottle  sticking 
out  of  his  pocket,  outlined  through  his  old  blue 
boat-cloak  with  a  look  of  hoar  frost  upon  it, 
the  salt  of  what  far  seas!  "  I  am  Dmitri 
Dmitrivitch,  second  mate  of  the  Stormy 
Petrel,"  he  blustered.  "I  want  to  say  to 
you,  Mrs.  Trevelyan,  you  are  the  one  woman 
in  ten  that  we  Russians  say  has  a  soul !  " 

The  other  two  were  in  sailor  suits.  The 
fourth  was  a  wiry  man,  with  onyx  eyes  and 
the  indrawn  gaze  of  the  wizard  Finns;  his  hair 
was  like  Finland  granite,  reddish  speckled  with 
gray;  he  wore  ear-rings.  On  his  shoulder, 
also  bowing  to  me,  perched  a  tiny  monkey,  as 
if  his  familiar. 

He  and  the  boy  bowed  first  to  the  icon. 
Then  he  said:  "  I  am  Alexis  Prayrafsky;  and 
this  boy,"  motioning  toward  the  last  one,  "is 
Ivan  Bitiagofsky,  both  of  us  seafaring  men, 
sailor  and  cabin-boy  of  the  Stormy  Petrel." 

The  boy  was  a  sad-faced  Kalmuck,  wearing 
one  big  earring.  He  handed  me  some  flowers. 
The  monkey  hurried  down  to  present  one  to 
me  and  dashed  back  up  his  master's  arm. 

"  The  castor-oil  tree  in  your  garden,"  said 
the  captain,  "looks  like  an  old  friend.  My 
father  had  a  plantation  of  it." 


&  ©radons  Visitation.  157 

"  It  pleases  us,"  said  the  supercargo,  "to 
find  here  our  petunias,  marigolds,  daisies,  ver- 
benas, red  poppies  and  thyme." 

"Have  you  been  here  long?"  I  asked. 

"Well — yes — some  time,"  said  he;  "  we  are 
—  so  to  speak — marooned." 

I  concluded  they  were  changing  ships. 

"  You  find  this  a  contrast  to  the  bigness  and 
flatness  of  St.  Petersburg,"  said  I. 

"  There 's  nothing  here  like  St.  Isaac's;  that 
cost  millions,"  the  boy  burst  forth.  "  To  gild 
the  copper  of  the  cupola  fourteen  bushels  of 
English  ducats  were  melted  down.  Fourteen 
bushels  of  ducats!  Our  Nevsky  shrine  is  a 
pyramid  fifteen  feet  high,  a  ton  and  a  half  of 
pure  silver! " 

"You  would  like  Gautier's  words  about  St. 
Petersburg,"  said  I, — "a  city  of  gold  upon  a 
horizon  of  silver." 

"  Our  sky,"  said  the  supercargo,  "is  never 
sapphire;  it  is  like  opal  or  the  chill  blue  of 
steel." 

"Always,"  added  the  captain,  "like  late 
afternoon  on  your  Atlantic  coast." 

"  There  are  times  when  this  looks  like  a 
foreign  seaport,"  I  said,  "when  the  water 
seems  to  have  risen  and  crowded  the  city 
under  the  hills;  there  are  views  from  these 


158  !3l  (Stations  Visitation. 

corners  satisfying  as  food,  like  the  eastward 
glimpse  from  Jackson  and  Taylor  streets." 

"The  water  is  always  threatening,"  said 
the  Finn,  "to  carry  out  the  Mexican  monk's 
old  prophecy  of  this  city's  drowning." 

"  There  are  none  of  these  illusions  on  the 
stern  coast  of  the  prim  Puritans  and  their 
descendants,"  said  the  captain.  "  Mirage  be- 
longs to  a  different  class  of  people." 

"An  atmosphere  of  miracle,"  I  said,  "suits 
a  city  of  a  saint." 

"We  have  no  begging  friars  in  Russia,"  the 
mate  boomed  at  me  in  a  hoarse  voice.  "  It  is 
not  your  St.  Francis  that  interests  Russians, 
but  your  bear,  the  favorite  animal  of  our  St. 
Sergius." 

The  boy  had  run  to  a  window.  "Look!" 
he  cried.  "A  shooting  star !  Come  to  fetch 
souls!" 

I  saw  a  glance  of  meaning  going  from  one  to 
another  till  all  five  had  caught  it. 

"  One  of  our  superstitions,"  said  the  cap- 
tain. 

I  brought  forward  my  samovar  a.n&  made  tea, 
serving  it  in  their  fashion  in  glasses,  with 
lemon  and  big  lumps  of  sugar  for  them  to  hold 
and  nibble  now  and  then,  the  monkey  joining 
in  this.  The  Kalmuck  slyly  spilled  drops 


Qt  ©rations  Visitation.  159 

toward  the  north,  south,  east,  and  west,  like 
the  tribute  paid  by  the  New  Mexican  Indians. 

"  I  used  to  wish,'*  said  1,  "  that  my  husband 
would  go  to  Russia  to  bring  me  beautiful  things 
made  there." 

They  glanced  at  each  other.  Presently  the 
supercargo  drew  from  his  pocket  and  showed 
me  bracelets  of  globes  of  crystal  and  of  ame- 
thyst. The  Finn  had  a  spoon  carved  by  monks 
with  the  text:  "Seek  by  prayer  and  supplica- 
tion." Stroganoff  brought  out  a  necklace  of 
rose  tourmalines  set  with  diamonds.  The 
sailor  showed  turquoises  from  the  old  mines  of 
Nishapur,  dozens  set  in  rolls  of  wax.  The 
mate's  boat-cloak  had  hidden  bolts  of  tissues 
woven  with  gold  and  silver  threads,  and  slip- 
pers of  gay  morocco  covered  with  gold  em- 
broidery. Volokhoff  showed  a  brooch  of 
exquisite  niello  work,  and  then  a  Moldavian 
woman's  necklace  of  gold  coins.  The  monkey 
darted  upon  their  glitter  and  ran  home  proudly 
wearing  it. 

I  vainly  tried  to  buy  some  of  the  finery. 
They  beamed  upon  me  with  smiling  refusal 
that  showed  their  gleaming  teeth.  "  No,  no; 
not  these,"  they  said,  and  put  them  away. 

"  I  would  like  to  show  you  some  Russian 
ornaments  a  neighbor  has,"  I  said;  "we  can- 
not tell  the  inscriptions." 


160  &  ©rations  thsitation. 

1  started  toward  the  door.  There  was  a 
general  rising.  1  found  myself  surrounded 
and  got  back  to  my  chair,  but  in  the  gentlest 
manner,  by  my  big-waisted,  baby-eyed  callers. 

"No,"  said  the  captain;  "let  us  look  at 
your  curios ." 

They  politely  feigned  interest  in  what  could 
not  have  been  new  to  them :  costly  shawls  of 
palm-leaf  covered  Cashmere,  and  heavily  em- 
broidered crape,  of  which,  with  Flemish  guipure 
lace,  I  had  made  portieres  and  mantel-drapery; 
French  trifles  in  porcelain,  gold,  and  ivory; 
crystal  and  gold  perfume-caskets,  a  fan  that 
was  Pompadour's,  some  Sevres  cups  and 
saucers;  rare  old  amber  Satsuma  jars;  huge 
polar-bear  skins ;  wide-spread  antlers ;  carved 
tusks,  odd  bronzes,  Parian  statuettes  and 
groups;  an  emu's  egg  of  palest  green,  a  large 
fan  of  white  peacock  feathers,  a  carved  teak- 
wood  table  from  India ;  a  cherry-stone  brace- 
let bearing  three  years  of  Chinese  carving; 
bits  of  the  Constitution,  the  Bounty,  and 
the  first  Atlantic  cable ;  from  Corea  a  carved 
tortoise-shell  necklace  and  box  topped  with 
dragons  and  a  little  ivory  god  that  was 
never  to  be  laid  on  its  back  or  it  would, 
bring  ill-luck  on  the  one  who  gave  it  to  my 
husband, — her  family  had  owned  it  for  three 


01  <B>raci0n0  Visitation  161 

centuries;  things  collected  through  many 
years,  numberless,  of  varying  worth,  but 
some  of  extreme  value. 

The  Russians  vied  with  each  other  in  trying 
to  please  me  with  stories.  The  mate  told  of 
trees  of  seaweed,  mountain-ranges  of  coral, 
and  great  grottoes  of  amber.  The  supercargo 
named  treasures  of  the  Troitsa  monastery: 
coats  of  mail  wrought  with  verses  from  the 
Koran;  the  chain  of  the  first  of  the  Roman- 
offs, every  link  with  an  engraved  prayer  and 
one  of  the  Czar's  titles,  ninety-nine  in  all; 
Gospels  encrusted  with  gems  and  clasped  by 
cameos;  diamond-set  chalices;  and  brocade 
dalmatics  worked  with  flowers  in  precious 
stones.  The  captain  mentioned  the  African 
trees  of  silver-gray,  where  the  gray  parrots 
roost  unseen. 

The  boy  told  of  the  Granovitai'a  Palata,  the 
Facet  Palace,  the  whole  inside  known  as  the 
Gilded  Room,  its  gold  walls  covered  with  dark 
paintings  and  legends  in  the  fine  old  Sclavonic 
letters,  the  very  height  of  the  dazzling,  gloomy, 
and  imposing.  "  It  is  like  walking  in  a  story- 
book," he  said. 

They  were  all  pleased  with  a  pastel  an 
artist  friend  had  made  for  lines  of  mine,  which 
he  had  framed  beneath  it. 


1 62  Qt  ©radons  toisitation. 


A  FOG. 

Dim,  shifting  shape,  the  buildings  loom  afar,— 
Is  it  a  driving  snowstorm  held  in  air? 

Almost  I  hear  the  sleigh-bells'  beating  jar 
White  silence  sound  but  faintly  can  impair 
In  scene  like  crystal  ball  of  icy  glare, 

For  Memory,  mystic  seer  its  visions  are ! 

Dim,  shifting  shape  the  buildings  loom  afar,— 
Is  it  a  snowfall  spellbound  in  the  air? 

I  watch  o'er  tufted  palm  the  evening-star. 

Then  aerial  currents  drifting,  duping,  snare, 
The  wailing  fog-horn  warns  of  harbor-bar, 

On  far-off  frosty  road  I  seem  to  fare. 
Dim,  shifting  shape,  the  buildings  loom  afar, — 

Is  it  a  film  of  snowflakes  charmed  in  air? 

"A  fog  is  as  mysterious  as  beautiful/*  said 
the  captain.  "  There  is  a  wide  difference  in 
the  stillness  inside  and  outside.  It  has  inter- 
spaces where  sound  never  penetrates;  this 
causes  wreck  even  near  fog- whistles. " 

"  In  the  next  house,"  said  I,  "they  have  a 
pastel  much  like  this,  but  larger,  by  the  same 
artist;  let  me  borrow  it  to  show  you." 

Again  I  had  almost  reached  the  hall.  Then 
the  supercargo  was  politely  leading  me  across 
the  room,  and  the  others  were  between  me  and 
the  door. 

"Do  not  take  the  trouble,"  they  were  all 
gently  saying. 


21  ©radons  Visitation.  163 

"  Let  the  Finn  show  you  some  of  his 
sorcery/'  said  the  captain. 

At  once  the  sailor's  arms  were  waving,  and 
the  air  was  full  of  flying  cards  which  returned 
to  him  and  were  caught  by  monkey  as  well  as 
by  master.  Through  our  silence  ofr  watching 
him  there  came  once  a  sound  like  a  faraway 
cry,  and  again  I  saw  that  meaning  look  go 
round.  Stroganoff  begged  for  music.  I  played 
Glinka  and  Rubinstein.  Volokhoff  sang  a 
Muscovite  love-song,  a  mingling  of  joy  and 
grief;  a  smothered  fire,  the  southern  sun 
and  northern  gloom.  Dmitrivitch  began  to 
bellow : 

"  Five  betel-nut  palms  of  Bombay,"  intones 
of  a  fog-horn,  but  was  checked  by  the  captain. 
Stroganoff  played  strains  of  Tschaikowsky's 
pathetic  symphony,  showing  me  the  trom- 
bones' heart-broken  cries,  dying  away,  one  by 
one,  at  the  close. 

"Like  expiring  torches  at  a  midnight  fu- 
neral," said  he. 

"  Moliere's ! "  I  suggested. 

"Juliet's,"  he  said. 

"Why,"  I  asked,  "do  people  speak  as  if 
deep  feeling  could  be  only  in  play  or  song  or 
story?" 

"Lord  love    ye,  ma'am!"    roared  the  big 


164  21  (B>rad0B0  bisitation. 

mate,  "we  could  spin  you  yarns  that  beat 
playhouse  and  book  all  to  tatters." 

"  I  should  like  nothing  better,"  said  I. 

"Tell  her,"  said  the  boy,  "  about  the  galleon 
foundered  off  Acapulco  with  crusadoes  of  gold, 
chests  of  pieces  of  eight,  wrought  crucifixes  of 
precious  ore,  gold  and  silver  bars,  silks,  spices, 
costly  tea,  chocolate,  and  sweetmeats." 

"I  might  tell  of  fire  at  sea,"  said- the  cap- 
tain, "or  wild  adventure  on  the  coast  of 
Africa,  when  I  was  in  the  '  black  ivory '  trade 
and  could  have  got  one  hundred  blacks  for  one 
white  woman." 

"  I  could  make  your  blood  run  cold,  Mrs. 
Trevelyan,"  shouted  the  great  mate,  "all 
about  being  hemmed  in  by  icebergs,  or  chased 
by  sharks." 

"  Speak  about  the  Manila  ship,"  the  boy 
said,  "that  had  four  hundred  and  fifty  in  the 
crew,  carried  a  hundred  and  fifty  pirates, 
prisoners,  and  a  three-million-dollar  cargo  of 
gold,  satins,  musk,  jewels,  wines,  and  con- 
serves." 

"I  can  tell  of  St.  Elmo's  lights,"  said  the 
Finn,  "  or  of  were-wolves  among  some  wedding 
guests." 

"Tell,"  the  boy  urged,  "about  when  the 
pirates  counted  out  five  hundred  and  ninety- 


21  <B>racion0  bisitation.  165 

nine  guineas  in  half  and  whole  pieces,  all  of 
Queen  Anne's  time,  yet  fresh  and  delightful 
to  feel  of." 

"She  wants  to  hear,"  asserted  the  mate, 
positively,  "about  a  ship  being  ketched  in  the 
bottom  of  a  whirling  blow,  in  pitch  dark,  noth- 
ing left  of  creation  but  a  hole  of  lightway  up 
over  us,  the  eye  of  the  storm,  we  calls  it, 
leering  down  to  see  how  we  takes  it,  or  how 
to  upset  us." 

"  I  want  her  to  hear,"  said  the  boy,  "  about 
the  three  ships  Dampier  met,  laden  deep  as 
they  could  swim  with  tons  and  tons  of  quince 
marmalade,  that  would  have  had  eight  hun- 
dred thousand  gold  pieces  only  they  got  wind 
of  freebooters." 

"  1  could  make  your  face  as  long  as  a  wet 
hammock,  ma'am,"  cried  the  mate,  " about  a 
masked  cap'n,  and  a  lady  made  to  walk  the 
plank." 

"  Come,  come,"  said  the  supercargo,  "Mrs. 
Trevelyan  is  not  to  get  nervous.  Let  us  tell 
her  our  own  story.  You  begin  it,  captain." 

"That'll  ease  off  a  point  or  so  for  each 
man,"  thundered  the  mate,  "a  five-stranded, 
left-handed  twister !" 

The  captain  began :  "  The  Jolly  Polly  was 
a  tramp  vessel,  now  smuggling  opium,  or 


i66  21  ©radons  Visitation. 

musk,  then  in  the  '  black  ivory '  line,  another 
time  carrying  pirates'  treasure.  I  need  not 
say  what  cruise  I  was  on  when  we  sighted  a 
ship  we  had  several  times  heard  of  from  ves- 
sels spoken.  They  reported  her  as  'acting 
strangely.'  She  carried  a  distress-signal,  the 
reversed  ensign,  and  colors  that  cried  'To 
Speak/  yet  she  was  said  to  run  away  from 
any  attempt  to  reach  her.  When  we  saw  her 
she  carried  fore-sail,  lower  top-sail,  spanker 
and  main-sail  set;  everything  else  was  in  con- 
fusion, as  if  dropped  suddenly.  She  was 
painted  blue,  with  a  fine  red  and  gold  line  her 
length,  and  a  red,  blue  and  gold  figure-head. 
The  name  on  the  stern  read  The  Stormy 
Petrel.  She  seemed  to  wait  for  us,  gently 
swaying,  as  if  but  a  mermaid's  fan  in  motion, 
she  was  so  far  and  small  to  the  naked  eye. 
There  was  no  gleam  from  polished  brass  and 
glass  as  she  moved ;  all  looked  dingy.  As  we 
came  up  there  was  no  answer  to  our  cries. 
Nobody  showing  on  deck  to  watch  the  coming 
of  the  boat  I  sent,  I  had  curiosity  enough  to 
set  off  myself  in  a  second  boat.  There  was 
no  one  on  board  the  Petrel.  We  could  find  no 
trace  of  hurt;  she  had  not  struck  a  reef  or 
been  run  into;  stern,  sternpost,  and  rudder 
were  all  right.  Seamen's  chests  and  some  of 


&  (^radons  bisilaiian.  167 

their  clothes  left  about  were  dry.  They  had 
not  met  very  heavy  weather.  A  little  bottle 
of  vanilla  on  the  cook's  table  had  not  been 
upset;  the  pitch  in  the  water-ways  had  not 
started;  hull,  masts,  and  yards  were  perfect; 
there  was  not  a  crack  in  the  grimed  paint  of 
the  deck-house.  The  deck  was  smeared 
everywhere  with  old  stains  of  blood.  It  was 
flush-decked ;  you  looked  from  the  taff rail  along 
a  platform  whose  length  was  broken  only  by 
skylights,  the  forward  windlass,  and  once  by 
the  galley  long-boat,  but  that  and  all  the  boats 
were  gone.  The  cabin  was  large,  panelled  in 
pale  blue  and  red  and  gold,  and  light  with  a  big 
stern  window.  There  was  a  woman's  long 
black  cloak  here,  a  lace  handkerchief  and 
carved  ivory  fan  there.  A  table  under  the  lamp 
bore  books  and  papers.  A  woman's  diary, 
made  of  loose  sheets,  had  dates  of  months 
after  the  last  entry  in  the  log,  but  now  weeks 
old.  It  was  merely  bits  about  the  weather 
and  her  being  all  alone.  There  was  a  piece  of 
poetry  in  the  same  writing  on  a  sheet  of  paper 
fallen  to  the  floor,  where  there  was  also  a 
small  square  of  paper,  folded  once,  with  the 
word  'Act/'  on  it,  in  a  man's  writing.  The 
captain's  chronometer,  sextant,  and  charts 
were  gone.  No  bills  of  lading,  no  manifest, 


1 68  Ql  (^rations  Visitation. 

were  found.  The  cargo  had  been  taken  away, 
but  small  wedges  of  gold  were  scattered  about, 
proving  it  had  been  a  treasure  ship.  Why  it 
had  been  deserted  was  a  riddle  we  did  not 
think  we  could  ever  solve,  but  in  the  hope  of 
salvage-claim  we  took  the  Petrel  in  tow. 

"Some  days  later  we  all  heard^  one  dark 
night,  the  whistling  of  a  Russian  air,  but  could 
not  tell  where  it  came  from.  The  crew  thought 
the  Petrel  might  be  haunted;  but  I  was  sure 
the  sound  came  from  another  side,  and  long 
hung  over  the  starboard  rail  listening.  It  came 
and  went,  a  fine,  loud  whistling  of  a  beautiful 
old  tune,  slowly  louder  and  louder,  till  the  man 
in  the  forecastle  cried : 

" '  It's  right  off  the  bow,  sir;  but  I  don't  see 
anything.' 

" Again  and  again  it  rose  and  fell,  with  a 
hopeless  sadness  in  it  that  curdled  my  blood. 
I  ordered  the  Polly  stopped  and  had  rockets 
sent  up.  At  last  these  showed  a  little  boat 
drifting  close  by,  with  a  boy  sitting  in  it  and 
whistling,  whistling,  with  no  sign  of  seeing 
or  hearing  us.  I  had  a  boat  lowered  for  a  mate 
and  some  rowers,  and  had  port-fires  burning 
to  show  them  how  to  find  the  boy  and  come 
back  to  us.  When  the  boy  was  hoisted  on 
board  he  cried : 


Qt  (Sradons  Visitation.  169 

cap'n  and  the  second  mate!  Why 
have  n't  I  come  across  'em?' 

"He  was  dazed  and  could  hardly  be  made 
to  eat  and  drink  what  was  brought  him,  and 
soon  fell  into  the  dead  sleep  of  exhaustion.  To 
all  our  questions  his  only  reply  was  once  to 
exclaim : 

"'Oh!  I  was  so  afraid  of  drifting  ashore 
and  finding  Chocolate  Charley  and  his 
gang!'" 

The  captain  rose,  and  saying  "Allow  me," 
carried  a  light  from  the  mantelpiece  to  a  table. 
It  was  the  third  time  he  had  moved  the  lamps ; 
he  had  them  now  near  windows.  I  concluded 
that  his  nerves  took  whims. 

"I  wish  I  hadn't!  cried  the  boy.  "I 
wish  I  had'nt!  But  how  could  I  know  ?  And 
I  was  so  afeard !  It  was  blessed  hard  on  me, 
too !  When  I  see  the  Jolly  Polly  I  thought  it 
was  only  one  of  my  dreams  till  I  see  it  was 
tugging  another  one  that  lurches  and  peeps  from 
behind  just  as  if  on  the  lookout  for  me,  but 
trying  not  to  have  me  find  out  it  was  the 
Stormy  Petrel.  I  was  in  one  of  my  queer 
spells.  I  could  n't  help  myself.  I  let  'em  take 
me  on  board.  When  they  all  crowds  round, 
asking  this  and  that,  at  first  I  says : 

"  '  I  don't  know  about  that  ship.' 


1 70  &  ©radons  faisilation. 

"  But  I  used  to  sit  and  stare  at  it  so  that 
Cap'n  Volokhoff  says  at  last: 

"  *  You  do  know  about  the  Petrel ;  I  see  it  in 
your  face.' 

'" Where  is  the  lady?'  says  I,  for  1  was 
most  dead  with  wanting  to  know. 

" '  There  was  nobody  on  the  Petrel  when  we 
found  it,'  says  he. 

"My  heart  was  full;  I  couldn't  see.  I 
burst  out  crying,  and  cried  a  good  while,  for  all 
I  had  left  her  there  alone.  She  was  so  kind, 
and  pretty  enough  for  a  figure-head,  and  I 
liked  her  so  much  till  the  last,  and  then  I  was 
only  afeard.  When  they  sets  us  adrift  in  the 
Petrel  we  knowed  it  was  going  to  be  all  chance 
with  us,  but  we  tries  to  cheer  each  other  up. 

"  She  says:    'We  must  meet  some  vessel.' 

"  '  We  've  got  lots  to  eat,'  says  I. 

"  '  We  are  safer  here  than  on  some  island,' 
says  she. 

"1  says:  'We've  got  rid  of  Black  Bill's 
blue  mug  and  his  boosy  set.' 

"I  tells  her  fine  pirate-stories,  only  she'd 
laugh  when  I  did  n't  see  anything  funny.  She 
tells  me  of  grand  doings  at  court ;  soldiers  there 
with  big  diamonds  in  their  epaulets  and  sword- 
hilts  ;  ladies  in  dresses  of  lace  '  like  a  spider's 
web,'  says  she,  'and  worth  as  much  as  rubies 


21  <S>rad0ns  tHsitation.  171 

and  diamonds/    She  'd  been  to  a  great  ball  the 
night  she  come  to  the  ship. 

"  '  I  had  not  gone  home/  says  she,  *  when  I 
was  forced  to  hurry  to  the  wharf.  'I  had  to 
pay  the  driver  of  a  droski  with  my  lace  over- 
dress. It  was  a  fortune  for  him.' 

"Her  handsome  yellow  satin  she  wears 
caught  up  all  round  over  her  lace-trimmed 
skirts,  rather  tumbled  and  soiled  now.  She 
hides  it  all  under  her  long  cloak,  only  on  deck, 
when  it  blowed  chilly,  she  has  to  wear  my 
pea-jacket  and  the  bo'sun's  sou'wester ;  though 
that  couldn't  hide  the  fine  lady.  She  was 
good  company  then.  She  tells  me  about  see- 
ing nine  bushels  of  pearls  at  the  Troitsa  mon- 
astery, just  left  over  from  embroidery.  She  'd 
been  to  feasts  where  she  had  real  caravan  tea, 
the  ten-dollars-a-pound  kind,  not  hurt  by  sea- 
voyaging  ;  and  oysters  and  grapes  and  water- 
melon, brandied  cherries  and  sugar-glazed 
filberts ! 

"We  tried  to  forget  where  we  was,  for  we 
could  n't  bear  to  stay  on  deck,  on  account  of 
the  splashes  of  blood,  nor  in  the  cabin  —  it  was 
too  lonesome.  It  was  hard  to  take  in  that  we 
two  was  there  alone,  after  all  we  'd  known  go- 
ing on  up  and  down. 

are  going  to  meet  the   Portuguese 


172  &  ©radons  Visitation. 

carrack  that  never  come  home,'  says  I,  'with 
a  castellated  stern  rising  into  a  tower  from 
her  poop  and  pooproyal,  and  in  her  hold 
thousands  of  pounds'  worth  of  gold  and  silver 
bars,  ingots,  doubloons  and  ducats,  gems,  and 
minted  money.  That's  the  ship  you  ought 
to  be  on ! ' 

"'It  does  sound  like  'my  ship','  says  she. 

"  The  time  come  when  we  didn't  say  much. 
We  watches  for  days  a  smooth  swell,  most  too 
lazy  to  go  by  us,  and  the  slow  sway  across 
the  deck  of  the  shadow  of  the  mizzen-mast, 
like  a  lullaby,  listens  to  the  straining  of  bulk- 
heads, clicking  of  doors  loosely  hooked,  and 
the  flapping  of  the  canvas,  till  we  feels  we 
might  as  well  be  dead  and  under  hatches. 
Then  a  breeze  would  send  us  skimming  like 
the  gulls  slanting  against  the  wind  or  hanging 
in  the  air  round  us,  for  the  lady  makes  me 
scatter  feed  on  deck  for  'em.  When  we  'd 
feel  the  stir  and  rush  we  'd  cheer  up  and 
watch  the  snow  of  foam  behind  us  and  see 
things  in  it,  same  as  you  can  looking  in  the 
fire.  She  see  flower-wreaths,  hearts,  and  stars 
mostly,  but  I  could  make  out  fortress  and  can- 
non and  smoke  of  battle.  Dear  heart !  how 
afeard  she  was  of  a  stiff  blow,  when  the  rig- 
ging screamed  and  the  mast-heads  leaned  over, 


21  ©radons  Visitation.  173 

and  we  has  to  steady  ourselves  by  rail  or  be- 
laying-pin.  Once  or  twice  in  many  weeks 
we  see  ships  creep  out  and  in  the  haze  on  the 
horizon.  I  hoists  the  colors  'To  Speak '  and 
a  brand  new  white  ensign  I  finds  in  the  color- 
chest. 

"'To  show  'em  we  ain't  pirates,'  I  says. 
'When  they  ketches  sight  of  that  the  first 
mate  with  a  telescope  will  run  up  on  the 
main-royal  yard,  the  second  mate  with  a  tel- 
escope will  climb  up  on  the  fore-royal  yard, 
and  the  cap'n  will  be  trumpeting :  'Ahoy ! '" 

"  She  laughs  and  says :  '  Think  of  their  sur- 
prise to  find,  after  all  that  hurrah,  only  a 
woman  and  a  boy." 

"  But  the  vessels  we  see  gets  swallowed  in 
fog  or  we  did.  And  the  Portuguese  carrack, 
too !  After  we  'd  been  hurried  along  for  days 
by  short  winds,  or  stopped  as  if  anchored  for 
weeks,  she  gets  downhearted.  I  knowed  by 
her  eyes  that  she  cries  a  good  deal,  but  she 
never  let  me  see  her  doing  of  it.  She  knowed 
it  was  dirty  luck  for  me,  too.  She  asks  me 
about  my  folks  and  makes  me  tell  her  things 
she  could  say  to  'em  in  case  she  ever  got 
home  and  I  never  did.  I  wants  to  do  the  same 
for  her,  but  she  says : 

"  '  It  is  better  for   you  yourself  that   you 


174  &  ©radons  bisitalion. 

should  not  name  me.  There  is  only  one  I 
want  to  reach.  I  don't  know  where.' 

"  One  day  I  see  her  leaning  over  the  bul- 
wark rail  and  goes  up  to  her.  She  was  looking 
where  the  ensign  shadowed  a  white  streak 
under  the  stern  that  made  me  think  of  a  burial 
at  sea  and  the  body  sinking. 

"  'Haul  it  down! '  she  says,  with  a  shiver. 
'  It  is  too  like  a  shroud ! ' 

"  So  I  does,  but  I  hated  to  lose  such  a  big 
signal.  Then  she  takes  spells  of  walking, 
walking,  walking  sometimes  all  night  above 
and  below,  all  over  the  ship ;  though,  while  she 
was  in  her  right  mind,  she  was  shy  of  the 
bloody  deck.  I  put  off  and  put  off  trying  to 
clean  it  up ;  it  turned  my  stomach  to  think  of 
it.  After  a  while  she  would  n't  eat  nor  talk, 
but  sits  all  the  time  writing,  writing.  I  got 
afeard  of  her  big,  wild  eyes  and  crazy  ways, 
and  when  I  see  a  branch  with  green  leaves  on 
the  water,  I  says  to  myself: 

"  'We  can't  be  far  from  some  island;  I'll 
risk  it  I1  I'd  always  been  fond  of  sitting  in 
the  cap'n's  gig  to  watch  the  foam  and  spray 
about  the  rudder  when  we  gets  a  breeze,  and 
she  did  n't  mind  my  going  there  now.  Little 
by  little,  I  lays  in  provisions,  and  one  night 
when  she  was  standing  behind  the  interlacing 


Qt  <5radons  Visitation.  175 

of  the  main  shrouds,  looking  ahead,  I  sets  to 
work  and  slowly,  one  end  at  a  time,  gets  the 
gig  lowered.  Right  you  are !  The  night  was 
mild,  the  lady  had  no  wrap,  her  hair  was 
dressed  very  fine,  and  she  was  a-letting  down 
her  long  train.  The  next  minute  I  knowed 
she  'd  be  a-pacing  to  and  fro,  a-singing  a  polo- 
naise, and  a-playing  she  was  at  the  ball.  I 
seen  her  do  it  lots  of  times.  Over  and  over 
I  'd  put  off  going,  and  maybe  I  'd  stayed  this 
time  if  she  hadn't  set  up  her  forlorn  piping. 
A  polonaise  is  just  a  high  swagger  of  a  march, 
no  more  dance  of  the  hornpipe  sort  than  stand- 
ing still  is,  and  when  the  music  is  sad,  like  the 
'  Oginski,'  it  is  all  sobs  and  a  catching  of  the 
breath.  So  I  drops  gently  after  the  gig,  and 
lets  the  ship  move  off  with  naked  davits  and 
hanging  tackle.  I  hate's  to  lose  the  Petrel ;  as 
I  looks  up  at  it  the  spars  was  tossing  against 
the  moon  as  if  it  knowed,  from  flying  jib-boom 
end  to  the  taffrail,  the  whole  yarn,  and  was 
uneasy  as  I  was.  I  was  sorry  right  off  when 
I  could  n't  get  back.  A  wind  rose  and  carried 
me  away.  I  lost  sight  of  the  ship  and  found 
no  island.  1  felt  it  serves  me  right  for  desert- 
ing the  poor  lady.  Some  nights,  when  the 
sky  was  a  mass  of  stars,  there  was  liberty 
and  brightness  of  morning,  but  the  others  I 


1 76  21  ©radons  l)isitalion. 

Folks  on  shore  don't  know  what  the  dark 
means;  at  sea  it  is  thick  black,  like  velvet. 
Sometimes  all  the  top  of  the  water  would 
flicker  and  gleam,  as  if  thinking  about  me  or 
trying  to  tell  me  something.  One  black  night 
there  comes  up  a  wet  squall,  and  the  lightning 
looks  to  be  slanting  right  after  me.  I  was  too 
scared  to  do  anything  at  night,  but  on  a  calm 
day,  though  I  didn't  know  what  way  to  go,  I 
used  to  row  and  row  till  I  was  dead  tired  and 
didn't  care  what  come.  I  was  lonesome  for 
the  lady,  and  I  missed  the  noise  of  big  sails 
beating  the  masts.  I  knowed  no  vessel  would 
sight  me,  for  often  a  haze  shut  the  horizon  in 
to  within  a  few  yards,  and  in  clear  weather 
my  boat  on  the  big  blue  made  about  as  much 
show  as  a  bird.  I  found  I'd  only  divided  a 
clove  hitch,  the  lady  and  I  had  each  now  one 
to  ourselves.  So  I  goes  on,  day  after  day, 
night  after  night,  never  knowed  when  some 
big  monster  might  knock  my  boat  over  and 
drag  me  down,  and  soon  I  had  nothing  left  to 
eat.  One  night  the  full  moon  hangs  like  a 
big  gold-piece  in  the  sky,  and  I  could  seem  to 
hear  the  lady  singing  the  Ukrainian  love-song, 
*  The  Moon.'  I  could  n't  bear  to  hear  her  —  it 
was  sweet,  but  just  like  storm-clouds  coming 
up,  it  made  me  want  to  cry — yet  the  time  had 


31  ©radons  bisitation.  177 

come  when  I  begins  to  whistle  it  for  company 
every  night.  I  got  forgetful  spells,  when  I 
didn't  know  how  I  come  to  be  there  alone, 
and,  by  the  powers!  each  day  and  night 
seemed  a  year  long.  It  was  a  rum  start  to 
find  the  Jolly  Polly  had  got  me,  but  the  queer- 
est of  all  was  when  the  lookout  soon  after 
sighted  an  island,  so  far  away,  shining  and 
sparkling,  and  the  water  pounding  so  white  on 
the  reef  I  thinks  of  a  bit  of  green  glass  dropped 
in  snow.  The  air  was  so  clear,  like  looking 
through  a  telescope,  we  see  a  man  come  to  the 
shore  long  afore  we  gets  nigh.  The  sun  was 
like  a  ball  of  fire  sinking  into  an  ocean  as  of 
blood ;  there  was  a  red  glare  on  the  whitening 
breakers,  on  clouds  of  sea-birds,  on  the  dazzle 
of  green  and  white,  and  on  that  figure  standing 
on  the  beach,  as  if  he  'd  sent  for  us,  the  man 
the  crew  of  the  Petrel  thought  had  danger  in 
him,  they  says : 

"  '  He  and  his  shadow  is  the  worst  cards  in 
the  pack ! ' 

"  It  was  calm  as  if  he  had  been  tying  up 
the  winds  in  knots  of  his  handkerchief.  Here 
was  the  Petrel  coming  right  back  where 
she'd  been  set  adrift,  and  there  stood,  by 
the  men's  yarns,  a  Finn  who  could  sail  a 
ship  in  contrary  winds. 


178  Qt  ©radons  thsitatian. 

"'The  Knave  of  Spades/  they  calls  him, 
'and  his  shadow,  the  Nine  Spot?' 

"There  was  a  little  imp  standing  beside 
him,  no  bigger  than  a  sprit-sail  knot,  and  I 
says  to  myself : 

'"That's  the  Ace!' 

Here  the  restless  boy  left  the  room,  run- 
ning to  the  front  door  and  back.  I  thought  he 
feared  the  Finn  might  not  like  his  words ;  still 
he  had  been  dodging  out  and  in  all  the 
evening. 

"When  I  see  two  ships  driving  tandem," 
said  the  sailor,  "and  as  they  draws  near 
makes  out  that  the  hind  one  is  the  Petrel,  I 
was  struck  all  of  a  heap. 

"  '  Shiver  my  timbers ! '  says  I  to  the  mon- 
key. '  If  it  ain't  the  whole  blessed  ship,  from 
cross-trees  to  kelson ! ' 

"And  the  monkey  takes  off  his  cap  and 
scratches  his  head  and  smooths  his  chin,  and 
tries,  too,  to  think  it  all  out. 

"  I  see  the  boy  on  deck  of  the  Polly,  but  no 
sign  of  the  lady.  They  sends  a  boat  off  for 
me,  and  when  I  climbs  aboard  the  vessel,  here 
is  Ivan  ready  to  square  off  at  me. 

"  'Do  you  know  each  other?'  says  the 
captain. 

"'It's  the  Knave  of  Spades!     He  has  got 


&  (^radons  foisitation.  179 

us  back,'  cries  the  boy.  'The  Petrel  was 
here  and  he  cut  the  hawser.' 

"'What  could  you  see  in  the  darkness?' 
says  I.  'It  was  Chocolate  Charley,  'cause  he 
suspects  I  wants  to  get  aboard  and  leave  'em.' 

"  'Where  is  he?  Where  are  they  all?'  says 
Ivan. 

"  '  Gone  to  the  bottom  or  come  out  t'  other 
side  of  the  world ! '  says  I.  '  Black  Bill  give 
me  a  mauling,  and  they  clears  out  when  I 
knowed  nothing.  Where's  the  lady?' 

"  '  Gone,'  says  he,  and  turns  his  back. 

"  The  Petrel  had  a  fiery  set  of  Malays,  Por- 
tuguese, Chileans,  and  a  lot  of  half-breeds. 
Some  of  'em  had  been  ugly  and  put  in  irons ; 
that  cripples  us  by  want  of  hands,  and  a  big 
blow  drives  us  leagues  and  leagues  out  of  our 
course.  They  lays  it  all  to  the  Finn.  One 
dark  night  I  was  at  the  wheel,  but  I  knows 
what 's  going  on,  that  the  first  mate,  who  was 
on  watch,  is  being  gagged  and  bound.  It 
wa'  n't  no  use  for  me  to  try  to  stop  it. 

"  Black  Bill,  one  of  the  Malays,  says  to  me: 
'  Old  Jack  of  Spades,  just  keep  off !  You 
might  have  put  one  of  your  spells  on  'em  and 
saved  us  this  trouble.  But  we  '11  keep  you  to 
whistle  up  winds  for  us.' 

"Chocolate     Charley,    a    quadroon,    and 


i  So  &  ® radons  Visitation. 

Gentleman  George,  a  Portuguese,  who  might 
have  been  an  earl,  he  was  so  high  and  mighty 
and  lazy,  gets  the  cap'n  and  second  mate  on 
deck  by  some  trick,  and  then  has  four  men 
seize  each  one. 

"'Now/  they  says,  'we've  taken  the 
ship!  You've  got  to  agree  to  navigate  her 
where  we  say,  or  we  '11  cast  you  adrift.' 

"  The  cap'n  was  pluck  clear  through.  He 
swears  blue  streaks  and  thunders  out :  '  I 
scorn  to  even  answer  you  ! ' 

"  The  mate  loves  a  fight,  and  he  sets  to  and 
trips  up  two  of  the  men  holding  him,  and 
punches  another  on  the  head  and  doubles  up 
the  fourth  by  a  dig  in  the  ribs. 

"'Look  out  for  squalls,  cap'n!'  he  says. 
"I  '11  attend  ioyour  men  now.'  And  he  steers 
for  'em. 

"There  was  an  orderly  set  on  board,  too; 
they  gets  at  the  arms-chest,  as  well  as  the 
others,  and  comes  a-running  up  and  takes 
sides  agin  Chocolate  Charley  and  his  men, 
and  so  here  was  as  pretty  a  fight  as  ever  you 
see,  bang  of  pistol  and  clash  of  cutlass  in  a 
pitched  battle  right  off  and  the  deck  running 
blood. 

"  'You  ought  to  have  sanded  the  deck  first, 
man-of-war  fashion,'  I  sung  out. 


01  (Smmoas  toisitation.  181 

"'You  mind  your  wheel!'  hollers  Bill. 
« We  '11  sand  the  deck  with  bodies ! ' 

' '  There  was  a  good  deal  of  dull  thumping  of 
the  deck,  and  many  goes  overboard  without  a 
boat  and  with  a  stiff  air  of  thinking  they  could 
walk  the  water,  or  not  caring  whether  land 
or  water  waits  for  their  feet.  The  first  mate 
was  one  of  these, — died  where  he  was  gagged 
and  bound,  maybe  from  fright  at  being  help- 
less. There  was  few  left  of  the  good  men 
and  true  sort,  and  they  was  mostly  the  scared 
ones  who  never  shows  fight.  The  launch  was 
lowered,  the  cap'n  and  second  mate  forced  to 
go  over  into  it  by  pistols  held  at  their  heads. 
The  cap'n  was  fond  of  his  ship,  let  alone  the 
disgrace  of  losing  a  treasure-cargo,  and  as  the 
Petrel  sheers  off  his  last  look  at  us  was  pitiful. 
I  knowed  he  was  steering  near  the  wind; 
they  'd  killed  him  as  much  as  if  they  'd  shot 
him.  He  was  speechless,  but  the  mate  yells 
and  yells  back  till  the  ship  lost  hail  of  him, 
telling  the  leaders  of  the  mutiny  what  blasted 
fools  they  was,  for  none  of  'em  could  navigate. 
The  first  thing  was  to  help  themselves  from 
the  ship's  stores,  and  they  drinks  all  hands 
quiet  for  a  spell.  The  poor  lady  had  heard 
the  row  and  locks  herself  up  and  tells  through 
the  door  anybody  that  comes  that  she  is  ill. 


182  &  (^radons  bisitation. 

She  was  such  a  frail  wax-doll  they  cares  noth- 
ing for  her  more  than  for  a  foam-wreath. 
They  tears  and  yells  and  sings  till  they  drops. 
When  they  sobers  up,  they  has  a  long  talk  and 
decides  to  land  at  some  island  and  bury  the 
treasure  to  lose  its  link  with  the  ship. 

"  *  There  was  a  stiff  blow  last  night,'  says 
Chocolate  Charley  to  me,  *  and  we  knows 
who  called  it  up,  you  Jack  of  Spades,  and 
we're  not  going  to  risk  our  cargo  with  you. 
Just  you  find  a  desert  island  now,  if  you 
values  your  life ! ' 

"  I  knows  more  about  setting  a  course  than 
they  thinks,  so  I  steers  in  a  certain  direction, 
though  it  was  many  days  afore  we  sights  an 
island;  and  Chocolate  Charley  was  suspicious, 
and  used  to  stand  and  glare  at  me  and  want  to 
curse,  but  hardly  dare,  'cause  they  was  afeard 
of  the  Finn's  power  for  bedevilment.  And  I 
don't  know  but  some  of  'em  thought  I  con- 
jured up  the  island  we  finds.  It  did  look  like 
a  vision,  with  its  coral-grit  like  drifts  of  snow 
heaped  on  the  dark  blue  water,  its  tall  spikes 
of  grass,  its  clumps  of  cocoanut-trees  with 
tufted  heads,  its  glaring  green,  and  its  birds  of 
gold  and  red  and  blue.  We  could  n't  get  very 
near,  and  the  treasure  has  to  be  carried  ashore 
by  boat-loads,  and  some  of  it  gets  swamped  in 


21  (Srcuiotis  Visitation.  183 

the  surf.  I'll  not  deny  1  was  looking  at  it, 
hoping  it  might.  It  took  several  days.  The 
rest  of  us  men  goes  ashore,  too ;  the  scary  ones 
had  to  help. 

"I  finds  out,  one  afternoon,  why  supplies 
was  taken  off  the  vessel,  too.  Chocolate 
Charley  was  the  only  one  for  burying  the 
treasure;  Black  Bill  was  for  building  a  big 
raft,  to  get  picked  up  with  it  at  sea,  and  no 
proof  it  was  a  steal  nor  trouble  of  coming 
back  to  dig  it  up,  and  nobody  else  finds  it.  I 
overhears  Gentleman  George  mutter : 

"  *  If  we  leave  it  here,  we  'd  better  bury  the 
Finn  with  it  to  leave  him  on  guard.' 

'"If  you  do,'  says  I,  'by  the  powers!  re- 
member me  when  the  next  storm  rises,  that 's 
all!' 

"At  dusk  I  steals  down  to  the  water's  edge 
and  waits  for  the  steady  ones,  meaning  for  us 
to  get  back  to  the  ship  on  the  sly  and  get  off 
with  the  lady  and  cabin-boy  left  on  board.  I 
could  navigate  well  enough.  There  was  such 
a  thunder  of  big  rollers  I  hears  nobody  behind 
me.  The  first  I  knows  I  gets  flung  up  the 
beach.  Chocolate  Charley  was  sawing  away 
on  the  hawser  with  his  sea-gully.  He  had  a 
sheet  in  the  wind's  eye,  and  never  thinks  how 
taut  the  Petrel  was  pulling.  When  the  haw- 


184  31  <S> radons  Visitation. 

ser  snaps,  it  jerks  him  into  the  surf.  The 
vessel  starts  off  in  a  hurry.  I  see  the  lady  in 
the  big  stern-window,  a  light  behind  her.  She 
springs  to  her  feet.  The  boy  shows  dimly, 
hanging  over  the  bulwark  rail ;  I  hears  his 
faint  cry  for  'Alexis ! '  for  we  gets  on  well 
together.  Chocolate  Charley,  carried  by  the 
tide,  goes  plunging  after,  as  if  in  chase,  and  he 
never  comes  back.  The  scary  ones  did  n't  get 
round.  Black  Bill  and  Gentleman  George 
come  running  down,  thinks  I  cast  Chocolate 
Charley  into  the  water,  and  falls  upon  me; 
Gentleman  George,  too  lazy  to  do  more  than 
hold  me,  while  Black  Bill  give  me  such  a  drub- 
bing I  knowed  nothing  for  days. 

"When  I  comes  to  myself  there  was  no 
noise  but  the  beating  of  the  surf  on  the  reef. 
It  was  broad  day.  There  was  this  little 
man,"  patting  the  monkey,  "stands  by  me 
and  looks  anxious. 

"When  he  finds  that  I  see  him,  he  offers  his 
paw,  as  much  as  to  say : 

"  '  Let  me  know  if  I  can  do  anything.' 

"  I  was  too  weak  for  a  while  to  stir.  When 
I  could  sit  up  I  see  all  the  litter  of  raft-building. 
They  must  have  shanghaied  the  timid  men  for 
the  sake  of  having  their  help.  They  had  left 
pork  and  rum  and  biscuit,  'cause  they  was 


01  (B>raci0tts  bisitation.  185 

afeard  of  me.  1  had  been  simply  marooned. 
It  wa'  n't  likely  there  was  any  cache,  though  I 
hunts  some,  but  finds  no  sign.  The  company 
of  the  monkey  was  worth  more  than  the 
treasure  there.  Poor  little  castaway,  he  must 
have  been  some  wrecked  sailor's  pet,  for 
monkeys  are  not  found  on  those  islands,  and  I 
never  heerd  of  one  that  had  evoluted  into 
being  born  with  a  little  cap,  which  he  has  on 
when  I  first  see  him.  He  was  fine  company, 
not  to  talk,  but  a  deep  thinker ;  he  used  to  sit 
by  me  watching  the  sea  for  a  sail,  and  look 
dreadfully  old  and  wise — seemed  to  know  the 
most  of  the  two  of  us.  He  would  climb  a  tree 
and  throw  cocoanuts  down,  and  take  care  not 
to  hit  me,  and  watch  me  fish,  as  if  he  felt  him- 
self above  such  silly  trifling  away  of  time, 
always  staying  by  me,  unless  he  sees  1  means 
to  shoot  a  bird ;  then  he  runs  into  the  woods 
till  the  noise  is  over.  Sometimes  he  would 
study  hard  over  a  tattoo-mark  on  my  wrist 
and  arm ;  it  was  plain  he  thought  it  ought  to 
run  up  to  my  shoulder ;  he  would  push  up  my 
sleeve  and  puzzle  over  the  matter  and  look  up 
in  my  face.  So  I  made  out  that  his  master 
must  have  had  the  long  tattoo  he  was  remem- 
bering. When  1  first  see  the  Jolly  Polly  stav- 
ing along  with  the  Petrel  behind,  I  says  to 


i86  &  Gracious  bisitation. 

him :  *  By  thunder ! '  And  he  claps  his  paw 
on  his  knee,  as  if  the  sight  was  just  what  sur- 
prised him.  When  the  Jolly  Polly  takes  us 
aboard  he  acts  all  at  home,  and  sits  up  in  the 
rigging  as  if  he  was  hired  for  the  lookout. 
The  boy  and  I  could  n't  talk  much  about  the 
lady.  We  did  n't  think  to  see  anybody  belong- 
ing to  the  Petrel,  but  as  we  goes  into  Honolulu 
I  grabs  Ivan's  arm,  and  says  I : 

"'Did  you  ever  lay  eyes  on  that  man 
afore?  Over  there,  at  the  top  of  the  landing- 
stairs.  See  him  stare  at  us ! ' 

"  'Lord!'  says  the  boy. 

"  But  we  never  run  afoul  of  Black  Bill 
and  Gentleman  George,  and  you  may  lay 
to  that.  As  soon  as  I  stands  up  again  on 
that  there  island  1  spends  the  same  hour 
every  night  thinking  of  'em  and  their  raft, 
and  dancing  three  steps  to  the  right,  three 
steps  to  the  left,  and  three  turns  with  my 
arms  raised  to  the  full  moon,  and  whistling, 
whistling,  whistling.  You  get  great  help  in 
such  things  from  doing  of  it  in  a  lonely 
place;  you  needn't  think  your  wish  with 
such  heavy  under-lines,  so  to  speak;  mine 
took  to  'em  like  pitch. 

' '  There  was  a  shipshape  gale  come  up  that  no 
raft  could  live  in  / ' ' 


21  (S>raci0ns  Visitation.  187 

The  sailor's  little  wizard-chum  gave  him  a 
pat  on  the  head,  as  if  in  high  approval. 

"Who  the  lady  was  or  where  she  come  from, 
nobody  on  the  Petrel  knew,"  the  big  mate's 
rumbling  voice  began:  "If  she'd  waited  till 
daylight  the  police  or  custom-house  officers 
would  have  ketched  her.  It  was  along  in  the 
third  watch  she  come  gliding  down  the  wharf 
like  a  black  shadow.  As  she  sweeps  along 
the  deck  we  see  right  off  she  was  Ai,  fore, 
main,  and  mizzen.  Under  her  long,  black  cloak 
there  was  the  edge  of  a  primrose  satin  ball- 
dress.  She  seems  sort  of  wild  to  find  some 
one  she  expects  to  meet,  and  begs  the  cap'n 
to  wait — wait — wait!  But  he  sees  she  was 
a  way-up  lady  and  was  afeard  of  trouble.  She 
didn't  tell  who  was  to  come,  only  says 
'Wait!'  Our  supercargo  was  a  stranger, 
who  didn't  come  nor  send  word.  The  cap'n 
scented  some  police  business;  so  off  we  goes, 
hand  over  hand,  right  on  time.  The  cap'n 
give  her  the  cabin  the  supercargo  would  have 
had,  and  the  officials  overhauling  us  afore  we 
starts  did  n't  notice  there  was  any  door  where 
the  cap'n  slid  the  big  screen  he  kept  for  scary 
times.  When  we  gets  fairly  off  up  she  comes 
on  deck.  She  had  all  us  officers  taut  in  tow, 
first  look  —  she  was  a  dainty  duff,  with  lots  of 


1 88  &  (Stations  tesitation. 

plums,  but  she  didn't  see  anybody  there. 
She  just  cries  and  wrings  her  hands  and  holds 
her  arms  towards  the  last  of  the  Russian  shore. 
It  is  queerly  level  to  what  this  coast  is,  so  flat, 
so  low,  just  a  pencil-line  between  sea  and  sky, 
the  slope  of  the  water  often  hiding  the  land, 
the  lighthouse  towers  looks  like  sails. 

"'Oh!  for  your  wings  to  go  back — to  go 
back ! '  she  cries  to  the  gulls. 

"The  captain  tries  to  calm  her,  and  gets 
her  to  go  below  agin,  and  there  she  stays 
for  weeks.  She  'd  only  just  come  on  deck, 
biting  lemons  all  day,  when  we  had  the 
mutiny.  There  was  great  wonder  about  our 
missing  supercargo,  and  through  that  it  at  last 
got  told  about  among  the  crew  that  the  Petrel 
was  a  treasure-ship.  We  did  have,  but  did  n't 
mean  to  have  all  hands  know,  six  hundred 
thousand  pounds  in  gold  from  the  big  Golenski 
mines,  even  where  it  was  consigned  kept 
secret,  so  far,  by  the  captain  and  first  mate. 
We  had  weeks  of  fog  and  days  of  gale,  and 
that  tremendous  blow,  after  some  of  the  ugly 
men  had  been  put  in  irons,  sends  us  far  off  our 
track,  and  the  Petrel  was  a  lost  bird  till  she 
could  have  all  hands  at  work. 

"I  never  sailed  along  of  a  harder  set;  I 
knowed  Chocolate  Charley,  Black  Bill,  and 


&  (gracious  bisitation.  189 

Gentleman  George  was  ripe  for  the  gallows, 
but  I  didn't  think  they'd  break  out  this  trip 
till  I  found  them  athwart  my  hawse.  It  was 
a  lovely  fight  after  I  sails  slap  in.  Blows  and 
kicks  and  cries  and  stamp  and  rush  of  feet, 
and  roar  of  shots  and  cutlasses  clashing,  and 
the  deck  slippery  with  gore !  Lord  love  ye ! 
it  was  fun !  Never  got  so  thirsty  in  my  life ! 
Pity  the  leaders  got  drownded,  I'd  have  liked 
to  dangle  'em,  a  pretty  row  of  'em,  from  a 
yard-arm  !  If  all  the  steady  men  on  board  had 
been  decent  and  loved  fighting  as  I  do,  as  a 
baby  loves  sweets,  we  could  have  got  Black 
Bill  and  his  gang  into  irons.  And  when  that 
mess  of  swabs  cast  the  cap'n  and  me  loose,  I 
was  swearing  mad,  'cause  I  knowed  we  could 
have  got  the  best  of  'em,  if  there  'd  been 
enough  spunk  on  board.  When  the  cap'n  see 
his  pet  ship  going  off  with  this  here  precious 
cargo  right  afore  his  blessed  dead-lights  and 
knows  the  cruise  is  bungled  for  good  and  all, 
he  jumps  overboard.  All  his  plans  about  ship 
and  treasure,  all  his  concern  in  life  amounts  to 
a  few  bubbles  floating  by  me !  I  must  have 
been  within  half  a  plank  of  death,  tossing  in 
that  there  boat  nigh  upon  a  month.  I  got  out 
of  provisions;  the  soft-headed  lubbers  flung 
only  a  little  stock  on  board;  it's  a  wonder  the 


1 90  Qt  ©rations  Visitation. 

likes  of  'em  done  so  much.  I  turned  light- 
headed, and  when  I  hove  in  sight  of  the  Black 
Gull  Ijknowed  nothing  of  it;  but  they  sees  and 
sends  a  boat.  1  was  for  fighting  when  they 
sheers  alongside,  and  they  has  to  seize  me.  I 
was  sick  for  weeks  after  they  left  me  at  Hono- 
lulu. When  I  gets  outdoors  I  goes  to  the  land- 
ing-stairs and  sits  in  the  sun  with  other  salts 
stranded  there,  to  do  my  share  of  jawing  about 
rot'ry  storms  and  pirates. 

"  There  was  a  Russian  not  long  from  China 
and  Japan  that  I  had  some  talk  with;  but  I 
never  thinks,  by  a  long  sea-mile,  that  he 
knowed  anything  about  the  Petrel,  till  the 
Jolly  Polly  come  a-towing  of  her  round  the 
bight.  When  I  gets  a  bit  over  my  own  set- 
back by  it,  I  sees  a  sudden  change  in  this 
man's  face,  a  whiteness,  a  set  holding  of  him- 
self together,  as  if  some  shock  was  a-threaten- 
ing  to  knock  him  to  pieces. 

"'Do  you  know  either  of  the  ships?' 
says  I. 

"He  looks  at  me  as  though  he  did  n't  know 
what  I  says;  and  it  was  plain  he  couldn't 
speak." 

The  mate  took  the  sailor's  cards  into  his 
ragged  fingers  with  livid  patches  of  nails  and 
set  himself  to  playing  solitaire ',  keeping  his  air 


<3t  Gracious  tUsitatian.  191 

of  bluster  toward  the  game,  and  fierce,  even  in 
his  silence. 

"  The  day  before  I  was  to  leave  .St.  Peters- 
burg," said  Stroganoff,  "as  supercargo  on  the 
Stormy  Petrel,  a  note  came  inviting  me  to  the 
theatre,  signed  by  an  unknown  name.  Lock- 
ing my  door  and  lowering  my  window-shades, 
I  dipped  a  glass-brush  in  a  corrosive  liquid  and 
wet  the  paper.  The  common  ink  vanished. 
The  page  turned  blank.  Then,  like  a  flock  of 
wild  geese  trooping  across  a  pale  autumn  sky, 
letters  in  another  handwriting  rushed  into 
sight.  Here  was  a  notice  to  appear  that  night 
at  an  '  illegal '  tea-party  to  be  given  by  our 
'Circle'  at  the  house  of  Vassily  Botcharov, 
late  ataman  or  leader  in  a  military  affair  which 
had  failed.  This  was  to  talk  of  and  guess  at 
the  unknown  fate  of  some  members  of  our 
Circle  who  had  been  lost  by  the  late  failure, 
doubtless  carried  off  secretly.  I  was  about  to 
give  up  this  life  of  constant  dread.  I  would 
not  have  gone  to  Vassily 's  but  for  the  hope  of 
persuading  my  friend  F6odor  Bolchakoff  and 
his  betrothed,  Nadia  Hilkoff,  to  also  leave  the 
country.  They  had  become  too  well  known 
as  at  least  'sympathizers'  with  the  Circle. 
F£odor  was  still  a  'legal'  man,  living  under 
his  own  name,  with  a  genuine  passport,  but  we 


192  3t  <B>rad0ns  Visitation. 

knew  he  had  been  lately  watched.  He  had 
'  tarnished '  his  rooms  by  letting  a  refugee  stay 
there.  Nadia  was  an  aristocratic  convert  to 
our  Circle,  had  inherited  money,  and,  to  divert 
suspicion,  still  wore  clothing  too  costly  and  ele- 
gant for  one  of  her  views.  She  looked  very 
beautiful  that  evening  when  we  three  mingled 
with  the  dancers  at  a  ball  in  the  Taurida 
Palace;  her  dress  was  of  point-lace,  over 
primrose  satin ;  bouquets  were  held  on  shoulder 
and  skirt  by  clusters  of  diamonds,  and  there 
was  a  string  of  pearls  in  her  hair.  F6odor  was 
as  fine-looking  as  she." 

The  Finn,  leaning  toward  me  with  his  eyes 
intently  upon  me,  pointed  to  Stroganoff.  I 
had  a  vision  of  this  handsome  man,  not  in  his 
fur  pelisse,  but  dressed  as  a  military  officer, 
gold  embroidery  on  his  uniform,  diamonds  on 
his  heavy  gold  epaulets,  buckle,  sword-hilt 
and  scabbard,  stepping  through  the  stately 
polonaise,  with  the  beauty,  in  the  famous  half- 
mile  of  ball-room  and  conservatory  with 
twenty  thousand  wax-lights  on  pillars,  on 
plants,  tracing  border  of  friezes  and  outlining 
arches. 

"  Petroff,  one  of  the  intermediate  class  who 
aid  secretly  and  know  movements  and  ad- 
dresses of  the  Circle  and  its  friends,  said  in 
my  ear,  as  he  passed  in  a  dance : 


Qt  ©radons  bisitatiou.  193 

"  'The  wolves  are  out  to-night/ 

"  This  need  not  mean  that  they  would  visit 
Vassily.  In  a  waltz  Nadia  whispered : 

"  'I  met  Dudorov  Katchenski.' 

"  'Where?'  I  asked  anxiously;  he  was  one 
of  our  'disappeared.' 

"'On  the  Nevskoi  Prospect.  Swiftly  as 
my  carriage  passed,  he  yet  made  the  sign  not 
to  speak  to  him.* 

"We  could  not  leave  the  ball  too  long  be- 
fore others." 

The  vision  fled.  Stroganoff  wore  his 
pelisse  and  sat  before  me.  The  Finn  sank 
back,  drawing  the  long  breath  of  exhaustion. 

"  Hours  after  midnight  are  especially  danger- 
ous, yet  Vassily's  safety-signal  in  his  window 
awaited  our  coming.  Nothing  had  been  learned 
of  other  vanished  members. 

"  There  was  still  to  be  '  removed '  the  official 
of  the  Fortress,  who  had  lately  escaped  the 
Circle.  Such  officers  know  our  unbroken  law, 
not  to  follow  if  they  take  themselves  off;  but 
he  boldly  stayed,  and  we  had  letters  from  the 
prisoners  complaining  of  fresh  cruelties  from 
him.  To  decide  who  should  move  as  our 
avenging  hand,  Vassily  wrote  'Act/'  on  a  slip 
of  paper,  folded  and  placed  it,  with  many  look- 
ing like  it,  in  a  Chinese  jar,  stirred  them  as  if 


194  21  ©radons  Visitation. 

a  careful  brew  of  poison,  and  offered  the  bowl 
to  each  of  us.  No  sign  was  made  as  to  which 
one  had  drawn  the  word.  I  feared  Nadia's 
heightened  color  betrayed  her  as  its  owner.  I 
felt  sure  she  had  it  when  she  gave  all  her 
jewels  to  Tchartkoff,  an  old  gray-beard  who 
had  just  been  to  Paris  to  sell  such  contribu- 
tions to  the  Cause  and  was  going  again.  I 
urged  her  and  F£odor  to  leave  on  the  Petrel ; 
but,  as  we  say,  the  mind  muddled  the  reason ; 
they  would  not  hear  of  it. 

"  Tchartkoff  startled  all  by  flinging  a  big 
bomb  among  us.  It  exploded  from  the  fall  into 
a  thousand  bits  of  candy — a  French  device. 

"  '  Is  it  ready?'  he  asked;  for  names  of  per- 
sons or  things  are  left  out  of  the  Circle. 

"  '  I  have  to  fit  the  touch-holes,  that  is  all,' 
said  Vassily.  His  wary  ear  caught  some 
sound,  which  made  him  snatch  the  candle  from 
the  window,  just  as  Petroff  tore  up  the  stairs 
and  burst,  breathless,  into  the  room,  crying: 

"  '  Save  yourselves !    The  police ! ' 

"  I  managed  to  murmur  to  Feodor  and 
Nadia :  '  Come  to  the  ship  if  you  can  get 
there/  and  then  we  had  fled  by  different  ways. 

"  I  doubled  and  turned  through  our  secret 
roads,  passing  across  gardens,  and  even 
through  houses,  but  as  soon  as  I  stepped  into  a 


&  (Stations  Visitation.  195 

main  street  I  was  stopped,  and  twenty-four 
hours  later  was  on  my  way  to  Siberia.  None 
of  our  Circle  were  in  my  gang  of  prisoners. 
There  was  no  way  to  learn  whether  they  were 
in  some  other  lot  or  were  not  caught.  To  ask 
would  bring  them  into  danger  they  might  have 
eluded.  So  with  torture  about  them  for  my 
close  companion,  I  crossed  that  awful  desert 
where  villages  show  like  mustard-seeds,  scat- 
tered so  far  in  the  white  waste.  To  escape 
would  be  only  to  die  by  hunger  or  by  wolves. 
Even  the  few  trees  hold  their  branches  in 
gestures  of  fear  and  despair,  softened  only  by 
powder  and  filigree  of  snow  from  a  low  sky 
of  unbroken  gray.  The  Great  Post  Road  was 
punishment  enough.  I  was  saved  from  work 
in  the  Nerchinsk  mines.  I  met  in  Siberia  a 
high  official,  who,  on  account  of  old  family 
obligations,  secretly  helped  me  to  join,  in 
disguise,  a  tea-caravan  returning  to  China. 
Another  journey  of  week  after  week, — that 
long  land  route  to  Shanghai,  by  sleigh  through 
Siberia,  camel  through  Tartary,  boat  and  mule 
through  China;  but  now  a  sense  of  freedom 
gave  me  strength. 

"Uncertain  what  to  do,  weary  in  mind  and 
body,  I  wandered  to  Nagasaki,  and  then  to 
Honolulu,  where  I  lingered,  not  knowing  that 


196  Ql  ©racious  bisitation. 

I  waited  to  see,  with  amazement,  the  arrival 
of  the  Petrel,  to  hear  the  story  of  the 
captain  of  the  Polly,  and  to  walk  up  on  his 
left  and  say: 

"  'I  was  the  supercargo  of  that  ship.' 

"  I  steps  up  on  the  cap'n's  right,"  said  the 
gruff  Dmitrivitch,  "and  I  says  to  him,  says  I : 
"  *  I  was  the  second  mate. ' " 

Furious  with  himself  about  his  game,  he  sat 
glowering  at  the  cards. 

Stroganoff  had  gone  to  the  piano,  and  was 
softly  playing. 

"  Then,"  said  the  captain,  "  I  sold  the  Jolly 
Polly  and  the  chance  of  salvage-claim  for  the 
Stormy  Petrel.  We  all  had  a  touch  of  cholera, 
and  there  was  not  much  left  of  us  when  we 
reached  San  Francisco." 

"Thank  you,"  I  said.  "How  I  wish  I 
could  have  seen  what  the  lady  had  written !  " 

The  captain  drew  from  his  pocket  a  folded 
paper,  yellow  with  age  and  blue  with  damp, 
opened  it  and  read  to  me  an  appeal  from  the 
poor  lady  to  her  lost  lover.  The  undercurrent 
of  Stroganoff's  music  made  it  seem  very 
touching. 

"  It  has  the  stress  of  Mascagni's  Intermez- 
zo!" I  cried.  "And  he  never  knew!" 

"  That  is  as  it  may  be,"  said  Volokhoff. 


Qt  ©radons  tHsitation.  197 

"  We  cannot  tie  and  unite  knots  in  the 
thread  of  destiny,"  said  Stroganoff. 

"  It  leaves  the  story  so  incomplete,"  I  said. 
"  But  that  is  real  life.  Or  is  it  that  our 
glimpse  is  uncertain?" 

"  Life  is  a  bungled  voyage  anyhow," 
growled  Dmitri vitch.  "  By  the  time  you  gets 
the  hang  of  your  sealed  orders  you're  too  nigh 
port  to  set  your  course  different,  and  you  're 
sure  to  wish  you  could." 

He  was  in  another  fume  over  solitaire,  glar- 
ing at  cards  and  Ivan  till  the  poor  boy  ran  out. 

"  What  a  man  is  to  know  would  be  sure  to 
reach  him,"  said  Volokhoff.  "We  have  a 
story  of  a  captain  who  put  to  sea  without  pay- 
ing a  debt  contracted  on  a  relic  of  the  cross. 
A  storm  arose,  which  he  calmed  by  throwing 
overboard  a  chest  with  the  money,  which 
floated  safely  to  the  claimant.  He  was  to 
receive  it;  it  could  be  sent  recklessly." 

"As  we  say,"  said  Stroganoff,  "what  must 
be,  must  be." 

"  Now,  she  is  dead,"  I  said,  sadly. 

"What  is  being  dead  ?  "  cried  the  Finn,  with 
indifferent  air,  looking  at  me  with  pity  through 
that  veiled  gaze  of  his  onyx  eyes,  always  look- 
ing in  rather  than  out. 

"  If  we  only  knew ! "  I  cried. 


198  01  <&>raci0ns  Visitation. 

"  Creations  of  one  kingdom,  marine,  animal, 
or  vegetable, "  said  Volokhoff,  "frequently 
imitate  those  of  another.  So  the  spiritual 
body  is  often  born  with  a  mockery  of  physical 
blindness  and  deafness." 

The  Pole  had  glided  into  a  strain  by  Chopin. 

"You  are  the  only  one/1  I  said,  "lever 
heard  interpret  that  angelic  voice  as  I  do.  It  is 
not  grieving,  but  comforting." 

I  brought  him  my  rhymes  about  it. 

FUNERAL   MARCH. 
Chopin. 

Hear  muffled  throb  of  the  heavy  hearts,  helpless  and 

terrified. 
Death,  like  a  wind,  blowing  fragile  web  of  their  affairs 

aside, 
Tore  it  and  tattered  and  dashed  it  to  earth,  stunned, 

aghast,  they  chide : 

Merged  in  the  One?    Or  transfigured  self  ?   What  and 

where  is  the  dead  ? 
Death  is  a  sphinx,  in  vain  Life  has  put  ear  to  its  lips 

and  pled  — 
Blank  desert  space !    And  may  be  no  more  though  All 

were  to  be  read. 

All  of  the  body  wants  are  met, 

How  should  the  spirit  famish  yet? 

Its  thoughts  are  dream  and  vision  pearled, 

For  its  delight  there  lies  unfurled 


(Stations  bisitation.  199 


Transcendent  beauty  of  the  world, 
Though  but  pontoon  to  bear  ye,  hurled 
Above  what  dizzy  deep  on  deep ! 
Below  illimitable  steep ! 
Through  vastness  ye  in  grandeur  sweep  i 
Yet  fear  and  question,  yearn  and  weep ! 
The  answers  in  your  longings  leap ! 

What  know  ye?   Where  Earth  wheels  in  flight, 

Thrown  by  one  of  the  shapes  of  might 

That  weave  the  stars  in  web  of  light? 

What  on  the  moon's  far  side  is  lain  ? 

Why  tide  of  wind  and  sea  complain  ? 

How  thunder  roars  in  rolling  wane 

A  burst  of  sobs  through  tears  of  rain  ? 

Why  sap  in  weed  or  pine-tree  vein 

Stirs,  winding  as  to  piper-strain? 

How  one  loam  yieldeth  balm  and  bane  ? 

Could  /  change  when  the  mere  plum-spray 

Engrafted  on  the  peach  may  stay 

An  individual  branch?    Nay,  nay, 

That  great  law  moveth  not  astray, 

I  still  am  /,  shall  be  alway ! 

And  I  then  gone  because  unseen, 
Though  not  when  wall  might  intervene  ? 
Yet,  Nature  warns,  mark  shrivel,  cower, 
The  clematis ;  the  orchid  dower 
Of  hidden  strength  awaiting  hour ; 
The  deathless  resurrection-flower !  * 


*  South  American.  One  which  the  writer's  family  has  had 
nearly  forty  years,  looks  like  a  ball  of  brown  evergreen,  English- 
walnut  size,  but  expands  to  a  saucer-like  lily  whenever  put  in 
water. 


200  21  <8>rcui0tis  feisitation. 


Though  wide  the  field  of  night  and  deep, 

The  dark  no  sickle-moon  may  reap, 

The  dawn-flushed  clouds  in  radiance  heap ; 

Foreshadowings  so  round  ye  creep, 

But  dull  to  miracle  ye  keep, 

For  of  the  hints  that  hide  and  peep, 

How  great  is  this :  ye  rise  from  sleep ! 

Hear   leaden    beat    of    the    hapless    hearts,    sullen, 

rebellious,  tried. 
None  know  the  Truth's  rapt  exaltation,  or  who  could 

here  abide? 
Yet— Voice    of    tender   vibration !  — now   this   their 

thought  as  they  glide : 

The  dragging  worm  in  his  cloak  of  fur  knows  not  of 

overhead, 
He,  too,  must  follow  his  kin,  wrap  himself  in  a  dying 

bed— 
What  beauty  rises !    What  joy !    On  inaudible  wings 

outspread ! 

He  read  it  aloud.  He  and  Volokhoff  looked 
at  each  other  and  then  at  me. 

They  spoke  together :  "  You  are  right,  Mrs. 
Trevelyan." 

Ivan  came  in,  muttering:  "Seitshas!  Set 
tshas!  (Directly,  directly!) 

Dmitrivitch  muttered  back:  "  They'll  have 
to  belay  that  talk ! " 

Again  that  meaning  glance  ran  round  among 
them. 


21  (Stations  ibisitation.  201 

Volokhoff  rose,  saying:  "Vladimir,  son  of 
Stroganoff,  it  is  time." 

The  clumsy  bulk  of  Dmitrivitch,  in  my  room 
filled  with  frail  treasures,  made  his  "  Stand  by 
to  go  about! "  as  he  rose,  seem  needful. 

We  had  a  last  round  of  tea  with  a  general 
"Vosh  durrivia!"  (Here  's  to  you !) 

"Mrs.  Trevelyan,  pardon  our  long  stay," 
said  Stroganoff,  with  that  unseen  motion  that 
gives  play  to  the  pelisse,  crosses,  doubles,  and 
clasps  it  around  the  body,  which  it  swathes 
mummy-like. 

"  You  are  not  likely  to  see  us  again,"  said 
Volokhoff. 

"  We  shall  not  forget  you,"  said  Ivan. 

Dmitirivich  loomed  over  me  in  an  effort  to 
be  gentle  that  was  yet  alarming.  "  Recol- 
lect," he  said,  "if  your  ship  is  ever  in  irons, 
on  a  lee  shore,  the  Russians  will  come  to  the 


( f 


You  will  hear  us  spoken  of  to-morrow," 
said  the  captain. 

"  I  am  glad  you  came,"  said  I;  "  I  am  sorry 
for  exiles." 

"That  word  is  not  used  in  Russia,"  said 
the  supercargo.  "We  say — and  please  re- 
member us  as — '  involuntary  emigrants.'  " 

"  Sometimes  you  gets  in  the  midst  of  a  hur- 


202  QV  tSrciricms  imitation. 

ricane  and  your  masts  going  over  the  side 
before  you  knows  it,"  darkly  hinted  the  big 
mate,  "  but  don't  you  be  afeard.  Just  think 
of  yourself  as  safe  right  among 

"  '  Five  betel-nut  palms  of  Bombay.' " 

"  Think  of  the  marooned,"  said  the  Finn. 

I  opened  the  doors ;  they  passed  out,  bow- 
ing. 

The  boy  gave  me  the  comforting  cry  of  the 
sea-watch :  "All 's  well ! " 

The  monkey,  impressed  by  all  this  leave- 
taking,  took  off  his  tiny  cap  to  me,  but  the 
lurch  of  the  sailor's  shoulder  forced  him  to 
hastily  put  it  on  and  clutch  his  master's  collar. 

They  filed  off  into  the  darkness  from  whence 
they  came. 

The  mate  questioned:  "Napravi?"  (to  the 
right  ?)  The  captain  ordered :  *  (Na  leva  / ' '  (to 
the  left !)  and  away  they  went. 

As  their  steps  went  down  into  Jones  street 
their  voices  rose  with  true  swinging  deep-sea 
roll  in  other  lines  of  that  old,  old  chant  spread 
from  Breton  fishermen  to  sailors  of  all  coun- 
tries : 

"  The  north  wind,  the  north  wind, 
The  north  wind  came  on  to  blow." 

Farther  and  farther,  fainting  away  in  the 


01  (Stations  bisitation.  203 

mysterious  night,  like  a  salt  breath  of  mid- 
ocean,  or  cries  of  sea-birds  over  the  lonely 
deep,  a  concentration  of  the  poetry  and  color 
of  a  calling  filled  with  the  sublime  symbolism 
of  air  and  sea. 

So  I  lost  my  friends.  I  have  never  seen 
them  since;  but  in  nights  of  storm  I  have 
fancied  I  heard  on  gusts  of  wind  their  voices 
cheering  me  from  afar  with : 

"  We  were  two,  we  were  three, 
We  were  three  mariners." 

There  was  such  a  sense  outdoors  of  the 
night  being  far  gone  that  I  drew  in  and 
locked  the  door,  thinking  "It  must  be  too 
late  now  to  visit  that  poor  care-taker."  To 
decide  I  looked  at  the  hall  clock.  It  was  past 
two! 

I  slept  late  next  day,  only  roused  at  noon 
by  long  and  loud  knocking  at  the  front  and 
back  door,  even  upon  the  windows.  I  hurried 
into  a  wrapper  and  opened  the  front  door. 
Who  were  these  urgent  callers,  with  eager, 
anxious  faces,  exclaiming,  as  if  relieved,  "  Here 
she  is!"  and  "She  is  here!"  and  crowding 
upon  my  steps?  Not  only  neighbors,  but  po- 
licemen and  reporters  and  some  of  my  friends 
from  the  Mission,  Hayes  Valley  and  Oakland! 


204  31  (fi>raci0ns  bisitation. 

They  looked  at  me  with  an  air  of  doubting 
that  they  really  saw  me. 

"You  are  alive,  then!"  a  reporter  said, 
and  two  or  three  of  my  friends  began  to 
cry. 

"Why  not?"  said  I.  "Why  do  you  come 
like  this?" 

A  policeman  spoke:  "The  houses  on  each 
side  of  you  were  broken  into  last  night  and 
robbed,  and  the  care-taker  of  the  fine  house 
was  brutally  murdered ! " 

"It  was  lucky  for  you,"  said  a  neighbor, 
"  that  you  had  a  party." 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  I  said. 

"Well,  your  house  was  lighted  in  every 
window,  up  and  down,  back  and  front,"  said 
another. 

Was  this  the  reason  of  Ivan's  running 
about  ? 

"And  we  heard  music!  "  said  a  third  neigh- 
bor. 

"  Nothing  else  could  have  saved  you,"  said 
a  fourth;  "lots  of  folks  know  about  your 
valuable  curios" 

I  could  not  believe  my  kindly  pink-cheeked 
blondes  were  in  league  with  those  criminals. 
I  explained  nothing.  The  reporters  went  off 
in  a  huff.  One  of  my  friends  took  me  home 


&  <5rari0us  biaitatian.  205 

with  her.  Others  insisted  upon  coming  to 
stay  with  me  at  night. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  I  left  my 
friend,  a  sea-captain's  wife  living  on  Tele- 
graph Hill.  I  came  down  Greenwich  street 
and  was  looking  over  at  the  green  and  gray 
of  the  Russian  Church,  thinking  of  Pouch- 
kine's  St.  Petersburg: 

"  Under  a  pale-green  sky, 
Weariness,  chill,  and  granite !  " 

when  the  Russian  priest  came  up  the  steps 
at  the  corner  of  Washington  Square. 

"  Mrs.  Trevelyan  ! "  he  cried.  "  In  a  city  of 
battle,  murder,  and  sudden  death,  you  are  yet 
safe,  thank  Heaven !  " 

"  Saved,  too,  by  a  call  from  some  of  your 
countrymen,"  said  I,  and  told  the  story. 

"Stroganoff !"  he  cried,  as  if  stunned,  and 
made  me  repeat  the  tales  told  by  the  super- 
cargo and  the  boy. 

He  grew  younger  as  he  listened,  with  his 
eyes  on  fleecy  clouds  in  the  west.  "  Poor 
Nadia  !  "  he  murmured. 

I  had  not  yet  told  her  name. 

The  long  slope  northward  of  Russian  Hill 
rose  sharp-edged  with  light  from  an  amber 
sunset,  but  that  was  not  the  gleam  I  saw  on 
his  face. 


206  &  Gracious  Visitation. 

The  slope  is  like  the  graceful  flank  of  a 
mastodon,  and,  with  the  house  on  the  brink 
of  Vallejo  street,  overhanging  Taylor,  re- 
minded me  of  the  children's  drawing  on  a 
slate,  where  a  house  in  the  left  upper  corner 
has  a  path  leading  from  and  to  it,  undulating 
until  it  forms  an  animal,  with  the  house  for 
its  head. 

The  Latin  Quarter  at  this  hour  is  like  a  de- 
serted village;  but  one  or  two  passers-by 
greeted  the  priest  as  "B&tiushka"  (father). 
One  old  man,  more  intimate,  said: 

"  Good  evening,  F£odor." 

The  story  was  complete,  I  thought.  We 
went  down  into  the  Square  to  cross  by  the 
diagonal  path. 

"The  lady's  poem,"  he  said  with  a  sigh. 
"  If  I  could  only  have  read  it ! " 

"  I  remember  it,"  said  I. 

We  sat  on  a  bench  near  the  giant  willow, 
and  I  repeated  the  lines  as  if  another  voice 
spoke  through  me. 

A  CRY  IN  THE  DARK. 

O,  if  I  knew,  if  /  knew,  if  I  knew ! 
Against  flood-tide  of  grief  and  dread  and  smart 
How  prove  my  faithful  love  ?  by  what  sure  art ! 

The  Judgment  Day  I  shall  forget  to  rue 


Qt  ©radons  t)isitation.  207 

If  it  but  bring  us  face  to  face,  we  two ! 

Hear  me !  though  in  abysmal  broken  heart : 

On  pinnacle  of  joy  upraised,  apart: 
Or  here,  unseen,  the  while  I  weep  for  you. 

Who  shall  forbid  my  message?   It  should  leap 
The  wreck  of  worlds,  black  chaos,  touch  with  glow 
Cloud-drift  of  spirits  in  tumultuous  flow, 

Your  thought  in  sudden  lift  and  splendor  steep ! 

I  call  to  you  from  my  soul's  utmost  deep, 
Now— if  you  know,  if  you  know,  if  you  knowf 

The  priest's  face  shone;  the  kindling  of  an 
inner  light  had  grown  into  radiance. 

We  left  the  Square,  following  Powell  street, 
and  turned  up  Vallejo,  where  Russian  Hill 
seemed  to  rise  to  meet  and  listen  to  us, 
abruptly  towering  above  us,  dark,  sinister 
even  with  its  lanterns,  like  a  ladder  of  light 
for  several  almost  upright  blocks.  It  took 
the  part  of  a  third  person  in  our  talk,  one 
who  knew  most. 

The  dog-howl  whistle  of  one  of  our  men-of- 
war  pierced  the  air.  I  thought  of  the  erect 
bearing  of  Volokhoff  and  Stroganoff.  "  Is 
there  a  Russian  man-of-war  in  port?"  I  asked. 

"No,"  he  replied,  "nor  any  Russian  ves- 
sel." 

The  hill  loomed  nearer,  higher,  the  street- 
lights wavered,  as  if  the  wisest  one  of  our  trio 


2o8  &  Orations  tHsitation. 


drew  breath.  We  turned  up  Mason  street,  for 
I  must  skirt  the  steep  hill. 

"  There  are  no  strange  Russian  sailors  here 
now." 

"Would  you  be  sure  to  know  ?" 

"  Certain;  they  do  nothing  new  without 
burning  a  taper  before  a  saint  in  church." 

We  crossed  Broadway,  and  a  few  steps 
southward  paused  and  looked  back.  I  was  to 
call  here  for  my  friends  who  were  going  to 
stay  with  me. 

"  Come  to  the  church,  to-morrow,"  he  said, 
"and  I  will  give  you  a  motiben. 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Prayer,  chant,  and  the  burning  of  incense; 
a  service  of  thanksgiving  to  your  guardian 
angel.  You  had  a  night-watch  to  keep  you." 

Even  in  the  dimness  I  could  see  that  sudden 
look  of  youth  still  wrapping  him  like  a  mantle. 

Aloft  —  over  tightly  packed  roofs,  rising  high, 
crowding  north  and  west  above  the  Spanish 
church  —  the  last  street  light  of  the  great  hill 
flared  as  if  out  of  the  sky.  From  our  almost 
diagonal  view  across  the  block  there  looked  no 
road  to  what  seemed  a  friendly  sign  from  hid- 
den guard. 

I  asked  what  I  had  not  before  thought  of  : 
"  Why  do  they  call  it  Russian  Hill  ?" 


Qi  <B>raci0tis  biaitation.  209 

"  Oh !  you  have  not  been  here  long ;  you  do 
not  know !"  he  replied.  His  right  hand  was 
on  his  breast.  I  saw  the  third  and  little  finger 
draw  into  the  palm,  in  the  Russian  sign  of  the 
cross.  "Years  ago — before  I  fled  from  the 
Nerchinsk  mines — they  buried  on  that  hill 
five  unknown  Russian  sailors." 


A  SWORN   STATEMENT. 


A  SWORN   STATEMENT. 


Being  the  Deposition  of  Mr.  Audenried's  Valet. 


This  ae  night,  this  ae  night, 

Every  night  and  alle, 
Fire  and  sleet  and  candle-light, 

And  Christ  receive  thy  saule. 

—Lykewake  Dirge. 


1  first  met  Mr.  Audenried  through  his  adver- 
tising for  a  valet.  I  liked  his  appearance,  and 
engaged  with  him  at  a  lower  salary  than  one 
of  my  experience  and  ability  will  usually  work 
for.  He  was  then  living  in  a  furnished  house 
on  Rincon  Hill,  whence  he  could  see  the  bay. 
He  sat  for  hours  looking  at  it  and  writing 
verses.  He  had  money,  but  was  neither 
young  nor  strong,  and  seldom  went  out.  He 
had  been  very  handsome,  was  still  fine-look- 
ing, with  eyes  that  glowed  with  a  lurid,  in- 
ternal fire. 

There  was  one  other  person  in  the  house,  a 
quiet  lady,  yet  one  to  be  noticed  and  remem- 
bered. 1  pride  myself  on  my  discretion.  It 
was  nothing  to  me  how  many  "  Coralies"  or 
213 


214  31  Sworn  Statement. 

"Camilles"  existed.  It  was  long  before  I 
alluded  to  her,  though  I  met  her  in  the  upper 
hall,  on  the  stairs,  and  sometimes  found  her  in 
the  room  with  my  master  and  myself,  or  just 
outside  the  door,  standing  near,  as  if  waiting 
for  me  to  go.  After  a  while,  I  got  the  notion 
that  she  did  not  like  me,  and  it  made  it 
unpleasant.  After  long  thinking  it  over,  for 
I  did  not  want  to  leave,  I  gave  a  month's 
notice. 

"  Why  is  this,  Wilkins?"  says  Mr.  Auden- 
ried.  "  If  it  is  a  question  of  wages,  stay  on. 
I  like  your  quiet  ways,*'  says  he.  That  is 
just  what  he  says. 

"To  tell  the  truth,  sir,"  I  says,  "it's  not 
my  pay — it's  the  lady,  sir." 

"What!"  says  he. 

So  then  I  told  of  her  air  of  watchful  dislike, 
and  how  I  was  not  used  to  being  spied  upon, 
and  that  it  was  needless  my  recommendations 
could  all  show.  He  turned  quite  pale,  so  white 
that  I  thought  Heaven  forgive  me  if  I'd  made 
trouble  between  them,  for  she  looked  sad 
enough  anyway.  He  did  not  speak  for  a  long 
while. 

Then  he  muttered  to  himself:  "TKyman, 
too!" 

He  made  me  tell  him  all  over  again.     Then, 


Qi  6morn  Statement.  215 

after  a  pause,  he  says:    "Find  me  another 
place,  Wilkins,  and  help  me  move." 

So  I  thought  there  was  a  quarrel;  We  did 
move  from  house  to  house,  from  street  to 
street,  from  city  to  city,  all  through  the  State 
and  to  others  near.  Mr.  Audenried  never 
spoke  of  her,  nor  noticed  her,  but  as  soon  as 
she  came,  as  she  always  did  come,  he  at  once 
gave  the  order  to  start.  He  seemed  to  watch 
my  face,  and  I  fancied  he  knew  in  that  way 
when  she  was  about.  I  wondered  what  their 
story  might  be,  and  tried  to  make  out  from 
verses  he  wrote  that  time,  but  all  I  could 
get  hold  of  were  these : 

PROPHETIC. 

Unto  the  garden's  bloom  close  set 

Of  lily,  larkspur,  violet, 

Sweet  jasmine,  rose,  and  mignonette 

More  beauty  lending, 
Fair  Marguerite  stands  in  the  sun, 
Plucks  leaves  from  daisy,  one  by  one, 
While  Faust,  impatient,  sees  it  done 

And  waits  the  ending. 

See !  on  the  garden-wall  behind, 
Their  happy  shadows  plain  defined, 
Bent  heads  and  eager  hand,  outlined 
Like  soft  engraving ; 


2i 6  Qt  0uj0rn  Statement. 

And  there  athwart  their  fingers'  pose 
A  shape  whose  presence  neither  knows. 
Mephisto !  'T  is  his  head  that  shows 
A  cock's  plume  waving ! 

Sometimes  we  rested  a  few  days  or  weeks, 
sometimes  went  on,  day  after  day,  without 
stopping,  but  she  was  my  master's  shadow; 
she  followed  us  everywhere.  I  used  to  try 
and  puzzle  out  what  their  secret  was.  If  it 
had  been  love,  it  must  now  be  hate,  I  told 
myself,  seeing  how  they  often  met  and  passed 
without  a  word.  He  did  not  appear  to  even 
see  her. 

We  had  come  back  to  San  Francisco,  and  it 
was  nearing  Christmas-time  when  I  was  first 
seized  with  my  queer  spells.  We  had  taken 
another  furnished  house,  far  out  and  high  upon 
Washington  street.  I  thought  we  had  got  rid 
of  the  woman;  but  coming  home  late  one  after- 
noon I  found  her  in  the  window,  while  my 
master  had  been  looking  over  his  writing-desk. 
Before  him  lay  withered  flowers,  a  ribbon,  a 
lady's  glove,  and  a  photograph  with  some  look 
of  this  persistent  woman,  but  younger  and 
handsomer. 

I  felt  uneasy.  Mr.  Audenried  sat  with  head 
on  his  hand,  lost  in  thought.  When  1  spoke 
he  did  not  hear  nor  notice  me  until  I  put  the 


01  6to0rn  Statement.  217 

medicine  he  had  sent  for  into  the  hand  in  his 
lap.  Then  he  did  not  know  it  at  first,  though 
in  giving  the  parcel  I  touched  his  hand.  Some- 
thing about  him  I  could  not  describe  kept  me 
an  instant  motionless  in  that  position. 

A  stupor  came  over  me.  The  carved  ivory 
hourglass  we  had  filled  with  Arizona  sand 
from  before  the  Casa  Grande,  our  bright, 
thick  Moqui  blanket  on  the  lounge,  our 
foreign  fur  rugs,  our  Japanese  fans,  bronzes, 
and  china — the  whole  room  came  and  went 
as  to  one  who  is  sleepy  yet  tries  to  keep 
awake.  Again  and  again  it  vanished,  re- 
appearing enlarged  to  twice,  three  times,  its 
size.  Then  it  was  lost  in  a  mist,  from  which 
rose  a  different  scene. 

The  chandelier  had  changed  to  long  lines  of 
lights,  the  pictures  to  great  mirrors,  and  arches 
with  banners  and  streamers.  Devices  in  ever- 
green showed  that  it  was  Christmae  Eve.  I 
was  aware  of  a  rush  and  whirl  of  dancers, 
walz-music,  flowers,  gay  colors,  and  the  scent 
of  a  sandal-wood  fan;  but  I  saw  plainly  only 
one  woman,  young,  gay,  lovely,  but  with  a 
faint  likeness  to  some  one  I  had  seen  who  was 
older  and  wretched.  I  rubbed  my  eyes,  and 
when  I  opened  them  at  the  sound  of  my  mas- 
ter's voice,  it  was  the  room  I  knew,  with  all 


2i8  &  Groom  Statement. 

its  familiar  objects,  and  he  and  I  were  there 
alone. 

One  day  I  met  our  quiet  lady  coming  from 
Mr.  Audenried's  study,  and  found  him  there 
in  a  fainting-fit.  As  I  was  helping  him  across 
the  hall  to  his  bedroom  I  had  the  second  of  my 
odd  attacks. 

A  dullness  and  vague  fear  troubled  me. 
Our  many-branched  antlers,  our  lacquered- 
work  and  carved  cabinets  and  great  Chinese 
lantern,  the  stained-glass  skylight,  the  big 
vase  of  pampas-grass,  the  open  doors  and 
windows,  the  sunny  yard,  with  callas  and 
geraniums  in  bloom,  all  wavered  before  me, 
went  and  came  and  vanished. 

I  saw  a  room  with  flowered  chintz  in  cur- 
tains and  furniture-covers,  a  glowing  anthra- 
cite fire,  and  Christmas  wreaths  hanging  in 
long  windows  looking  on  frost-bound  garden 
and  river.  And  the  beautiful  woman  of  the 
ball !  Still  young,  but  now  unhappy,  looking 
at  me  in  despair.  Both  arms  outstretched 
in  an  agony  of  entreaty,  and  tears  rolling 
down  her  cheeks.  Terribly  distressed  by 
her  woe,  I  gave  a  cry  of  pity  just  as  Mr. 
Audenried,  gasping  and  falling  on  the  bed, 
brought  me  back  to  him,  to  myself,  and  to 
his 


01  6to0rn  Statement.  219 

Putting   away  his  things  for   the    night   I 
found  these  verses  in  a  woman's  writing: 

IN  ABSENCE. 

In  my  black  night  no  moonshine  nor  star-glimmer 
On  my  long,  weary  path  that  leads  Nowhere 

I  get  no  shimmer 

Of  that  great  glory  our  day  knew. 
I  cannot  think  the  world  holds  you; 
It  is  not  ours,  this  Land  of  Vague  Despair  — 

I  scarce  can  breathe  its  air. 

I  am  as  one  whom  some  sweet  tune,  down  dropping, 
Has  left  half-stunned  by  silence  like  a  blow; 

Like  one  who,  stopping 
In  drifting  desert  sands,  looks  back 
Where  sky  slants  down  above  his  track, 
To  mark  the  tufted  palm  whose  outlines  show 

An  oasis  below ; 

Like  one  whom  winter  wind  and  rain  are  blinding, 
And  storm-tossed  billows  bear  from  land  away, 

Who,  no  hope  finding, 
Should  yield  himself  to  bitter  fate. 
Can  I  do  this !    Ah,  God !  too  late— 
Have  I  not  felt  thy  dear,  warm  lips  convey 

Commands  I  must  obey  ? 

"  Forget-me-not !  "  a  kiss  for  every  letter. 
"  Forget-me-not!  "  a  kiss  for  every  word. 

It  could  not  better 
Have  stamped  itself  upon  my  soul 
It  passed  beyond  my  own  control. 
All  thought,  all  circumstance  are  by  it  stirred, 
Invisible,  unheard. 


220  Qt.  Sttmrn  Statement. 

Though,  like  Francesca,  ever  falling,  falling 
Through  dizzy  space  to  endless  depths  afar, 

Thy  kiss  recalling 
Would  charm  me  to  forget  my  woe ; 
Of  Heaven  or  Hell  I  should  not  know, 
Nor  as  I  passed  see  any  blazing  star, 

Nor  mark  its  rhythmic  jar. 

If  such  remembrance  only — moon-reflection 
On  depths  untried  of  my  soul's  unknown  sea  — 

Mere  recollection  — 

Could  hold  me  spellbound  by  its  sway, 
What  of  your  true  kiss  can  I  say? 
Ah!  that  is  wholly  speechless  ecstasy,— 

No  words  for  that  could  be! 

I  thought  it  might  be  I  had  myself  grown 
nervous  about  the  quiet  lady,  to  have  these 
crazy  fits  after  seeing  her,  and  I  dreaded  to 
have  her  come  again.  But  it  was  not  my 
place  to  urge  Mr.  Audenried  to  move,  and  he 
seemed  tired  of  changing. 

One  evening  he  had  a  severe  attack  of  pal- 
pitation of  the  heart,  and  called  me  in  great 
haste.  I  had  been  wondering  what  had  put 
him  in  such  a  flutter,  when  that  lady  opened 
the  door  and  glanced  round  the  room  as  if  she 
had  forgotten  something,  but  did  not  come  in. 
Mr.  Audenried  was  so  ill  that  he  had  to  sit  up 
in  bed  and  have  me  hold  him  firmly,  my  hands 
pressing  his  breast  and  his  back. 


31  Sworn  Statement.  221 

Again  that  strange  dread  and  drowsiness  fell 
on  me  like  a  cloud.  My  master's  pearl  combs, 
brushes,  crystal  jewel-box,  with  its  glittering 
contents,  and  a  bunch  of  violets  in  a  wine- 
glass on  the  bureau,  his  Japanese  quilted 
silk  dressing-gown  thrown  over  a  chair,  em- 
broidered slippers  here,  gay  smoking -cap 
there,  and  a  large  lithograph  of  Modjeska, 
glimmered  through  a  fog,  came  back,  with- 
drew again. 

The  one  high  gas-burner  became  a  full 
moon,  the  walls  fell  away ;  I  stood  out  of  doors 
in  a  summer  night's  dimness  and  stillness  that 
make  one  feel  lonely;  grass,  daisies,  and  but- 
tercups underfoot,  and  overhead  stars  and 
endless  space.  The  beautiful  woman,  worn 
and  wild-looking,  with  flashing  eyes,  stood 
there  in  a  threatening  posture,  calling  down 
curses !  I  shrank  in  horror,  though  the  vision 
lasted,  as  before,  not  more  than  a  quarter  of  a 
second. 

Mr.  Audenried,  wasted  and  wan,  had  grown 
so  nervous  that  after  this  time  he  refused  to 
be  left  alone,  and  above  all,  cautioned  me  to 
stay  beside  him  on  Christmas  Eve. 

"An  unpleasant  anniversary  to  me,"  he 
says. 

The  doctor  advised  him  to  change  to  a  hotel, 


222  Qt  Sroorn  Statement. 

to  have  cheerful  society.  We  moved  to  the 
Palace  Hotel,  and  to  divert  his  mind  from  its 
own  horror  Mr.  Audenried  gave  a  dinner-party 
in  his  rooms  on  Christmas  Eve. 

It  was  a  wild  night,  just  right  for  "  Tam 
O'Shanter,"  which  one  of  the  gentlemen  re- 
cited. The  weather  or  my  master's  forced 
gayety  made  me  gloomy.  There  was  a  raw 
Irish  waiter  to  help,  and  once  I  went  into  the 
anteroom  just  in  time  to  catch  him  about  to 
season  one  of  Mr.  Audenried's  private  dishes 
from  a  bottle  out  of  our  Japanese  cabinet.  It 
was  marked  "  Poison, "  but  he  could  not  read. 

"What  could  possess  you,"  I  says,  "to 
meddle  with  thatf" 

"Sure,"  he  says,  "the  lady  showed  me 
which  to  take." 

"  The  lady  I  What  lady?"  I  says,  trembling 
from  head  to  foot. 

"A  dark  lady,"  says  he,  "with  a  proud 
nose  and  mouth,  and  eyebrows  in  one  long, 
heavy  line." 

I  was  horrified.  I  did  not  want  to  figure  in 
a  murder  case.  I  liked  Mr.  Audenried  too  well 
to  leave.  I  was  too  poor  to  lose  a  good  place. 
I  resolved  to  stay  and  protect  him,  but  my 
heart  beat  faster.  For  my  own  safety  I  meant 
to  say  over  the  multiplication-table,  and  not 


01  0nj0rn  Statement.  223 

get  bewitched  or  entranced  again.  I  told  my- 
self over  and  over,  "She  shall  not  outwit 
me." 

The  wind  and  rain  beat  against  the  win- 
dows, and  I  heard  one  of  our  guests  singing 
"The  Midnight  Revellers:" 

"  The  first  was  shot  by  Carlist  thieves 

Three  years  ago  in  Spain ; 
The  second  was  drowned  in  Alicante, 

While  I  alone  remain. 
But  friends  I  have,  two  glorious  friends, 

Two  braver  could  not  be; 
And  every  night  when  midnight  tolls 

They  meet  to  laugh  with  me ! " 

As  I  took  in  some  wine,  a  gentleman  was 
saying:  "Too  wild  a  story  for  such  a  com- 
monplace background  as  San  Francisco." 

"  One  must  be  either  commonplace  or  sated 
with  horrors  to  say  that,"  says  Mr.  Audenried. 
"  What  city  has  more  or  stranger  disappear- 
ances and  assassinations?  There  have  been 
murders  and  suicides  at  all  the  hotels.  Other 
cities  surpass  it  in  age,  but  none  in  crime  and 
mystery." 

It  was  a  lively  party.  A  love-song  from  one 
of  the  gentlemen  turned  the  talk  on  love 
affairs,  and  I  went  in  just  as  Mr.  Audenried 
was  saying:  "Aaron  Burr  relied  wholly  on 


224  &  0tn0rn  Statement. 

the  fascination  of  his  touch.  I  believe  in  the 
magnetism  of  touch ;  that  it  cannot  only  im- 
part disease  but  sensations.  Holding  a 
sleeper's  hand  while  I  read,  by  no  will- 
power of  mine  he  dreamed  of  scenes  I  saw  in 
my  mind." 

Trained  servant  as  I  am,  I  disgraced  myself 
then.  I  dropped  and  broke  some  of  our  own 
bubble-like  glasses  I  was  carrying.  I  was  so 
unnerved  by  this  explanation  of  my  queer 
turns.  It  flashed  upon  me  how  they  had  only 
come  when  I  was  touching  him.  I  had  heard 
a  former  master,  a  learned  German,  talk 
about  his  countryman  Mesmer,  and  I  under- 
stood that  what  had  appeared  to  me  in  my 
spells  was  what  Mr.  Audenried  was  thinking 
of! 

I  could  scarcely  recover  myself  for  the  rest 
of  the  company's  stay.  I  recollect  no  more 
about  it,  except  that  somebody  played  the  flute 
till  it  seemed  as  if  a  twilight  breeze  sighed  for 
being  pent  in  our  four  walls  and  longed  to  join 
its  ruder  brother-winds  outside ;  and  that'Mr. 
Audenried  read  these  verses  of  his : 


Stoorn  Statement.  225 


RONDEL. 

To-night,  O  friends!  we  meet  "  Kriss  Kringle"; 

He  comes,  he  comes  when  falls  betwixt  us 
The  chiming  midnight-bells'  soft  klingle, 
When,  glad,  we  crowd  round  cheery  ingle, 

Or,  lonely,  grieve  that  joy  has  missed  us; 

Or,  in  cathedral  gloom,  pray  Christus; 
Or  drain  gay  toasts  where  glasses  jingle. 

Though  marshalled  hosts  of  cares  have  tricked  us, 
In  wine's  Red  Sea  drown  all  and  single  — 
"Christmas!" 

Drown  recollection  that  afflicts  us  — 
Our  bowls,  like  witches'  caldrons,  mingle 

Too  much  of  old  Yule-tide  that  kissed  us — 

The  bitter  drink  that  Life  has  mixed  us 
Forget,  and  shout  till  rafters  tingle  — 
"Christmas!" 

The  last  guest  had  hardly  gone  when  Mrs. 
Carnavon's  card  was  brought  up.  This  was 
an  elderly  lady  we  had  met  in  our  travels, 
who  took  an  interest  in  Mr.  Audenried's  case, 
though  a  stranger.  She  came  in,  bright  and 
chatty,  and  my  master  was  so  cheered  up  by 
it  that  he  readily  let  me  leave. 

I  did  not  want  to  go.  I  had  not  been  drink- 
ing ;  I  was  well  and  in  my  right  mind,  but  my 
whole  skin  seemed  to  draw  up  with  a  shiver 
and  thrill  as  at  some  near  terror.  But  he  sent 
me  to  a  druggist  to  have  Mrs.  Carnavon's 
vinaigrette  refilled. 


226  &  Sroorn  Statement. 

As  I  left  the  passage  to  our  suite  of  rooms 
and  turned  into  the  long,  lonesome  hall,  more 
dreary  than  ever  in  its  vastness  at  this  quiet, 
late  hour,  I  saw  a  little  way  ahead  our  bru- 
nette stepping  into  the  elevator.  I  fancied  a 
mocking  smile  on  her  face  as  she  looked  back 
at  me.  I  forgot  the  multiplication-table,  whose 
fixed  rules  were  to  keep  me  in  my  senses. 
For  the  first  time  it  struck  me  that  she  was 
the  woman  of  my  visions,  grown  older  and 
sadder. 

I  hurried,  but  when  I  reached  the  door 
she  had  gone,  and  stout  Mrs.  Lisgar  was 
coming  up,  like  the  change  of  figures  in  a 
pantomime.  She  was  another  mystery  of 
mine;  for  her  maid  had  told  me  Mrs.  Lisgar 
and  my  master  knew  each  other  abroad,  but 
were  sworn  foes  now,  neither  of  us  knew 
why. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Madam,"  I  says;  "did 
you  see  the  lady  who  just  went  down?  A 
handsome  brunette,  with  eyebrows  that  join 
above  a  Roman  nose,  and  a  very  short  upper 
lip.  Where  did  she  go?" 

Mrs.  Lisgar  swelled  bigger  and  redder. 
"  Has  Mr.  Audenried  sent  you  to  annoy  me?" 
she  says. 

"Certainly  not,  Madam,"  says  I.    "But  1 


01  Srnorn  Statement.  227 

saw  her! — heavy,  meeting  eyebrows,  scorn- 
ful mouth,  and — " 

"  Silence,  sir ! "  she  cried.  "  There  was  no 
one  in  the  elevator.  Don't  you  know  you  are 
speaking  of  my  poor  sister,  dead  for  many 
years?" 

In  my  confusion  I  gasped  out  at  random: 
"  Mrs.  Carnavon  is  here.  Do  you  know 
her?" 

Mrs.  Lisgar  says:  "She  was  my  sister's 
most  intimate  friend.  But  you  are  either 
drunk  or  crazy.  I  was  with  her  when  she 
died  in  Arizona  last  week." 

An  awful  suspicion  seized  me ;  a  cold  sweat 
broke  out  on  my  brow.  I  had  not  lost  sight  of 
Mr.  Audenried's  door.  I  bowed  to  Mrs.  Lisgar 
and  tried  to  hurry  back,  but  a  numbness  in 
every  limb  weighed  me  down  till  I  seemed  to 
move  as  slowly  as  the  bells  that  were  striking 
twelve. 

As  I  drew  near,  I  heard  angry  voices  inside, 
then  a  fearful  groan,  which  seemed  to  die  off  in 
the  distance.  But  I  found  every  room  in  our 
suite  vacant,  except  for  my  figure,  which  I 
caught  glimpses  of  at  every  turn,  staring  out 
of  the  great  mirrors,  ghastly,  haggard,  with 
bloodshot  eyes,  and  a  strained  look  about  the 
mouth,  madly  straying  among  the  lights  and 


228  &  0ro0m  Statement. 

flowers,  tables  with  remnants  of  the  feast,  and 
the  disordered  chairs,  which  after  such  a  revel 
have  a  queer  air  of  life  of  their  own. 

A  long  window  in  the  parlor  stood  wide 
open.  Chilled  with  fright,  with  I  don't  know 
what  vague  thought,  I  ran  and  looked  out. 
Six  stories  from  the  street,  nothing  to  be  seen 
outside  but  the  night  and  storm,  neither  on 
the  lighted  pavement  far  below,  nor  among 
drifting  clouds  overhead !  Nothing  but  impen- 
etrable darkness  then  and  afterward  over  Mr. 
Audenried's  fate. 

This  is  all  I  can  tell  of  the  well-known 
strange  disappearance  of  my  unhappy  master. 
It  is  the  truth,  the  whole  truth  and  nothing 
but  the  truth 


"THE   SECOND   CARD   WINS." 


"THE  SECOND  CARD  WINS." 

A  house  with  two  doors  is  difficult  to  guard.— Spanish  Proverb. 


I.— THE  LOVELY  MRS.  CLARE  SPEAKS. 

I  read  people  at  a  glance — always  could;  it 
was  born  in  me,  as  it  seems  to  have  been  born 
in  my  husband  to  dispute  it;  and  I  don't  care 
what  he  says,  I  shall  still  think  there  was 
some  strange  secret  between  Mark  Dillon  and 
that  woman.  There  was  always  something 
queer  about  him.  I  saw  it  at  first,  when  Sam 
brought  him  to  our  rooms  in  the  hotel  and  pre- 
sented him  to  me  as  his  "old  friend  from  In- 
dia, who  joins  us  for  the  opera."  I  thought  it 
was  shyness  that  kept  him  dumb,  for  he  only 
bowed  and  stared. 

"Oh,  from  India !"  I  cried,  warmly,  shak- 
ing hands;  "the  one  I  am  to  thank  for  the 
rare  fan  sent  to  Sam's  wife !  I  am  so  glad  to 
meet  you." 

"You  have  it,  then?"  he  said,  looking 
closely  at  me. 

231 


232        "(Elje  Beronir  Carir 


He  was  plainly  struck  with  Sam's  taste  in 
the  choice  of  a  wife.  He  never  got  over  his 
surprise,  but  always  watched  me  with  a 
puzzled  air,  as  he  might  look  at  a  strange 
bird  or  flower,  even  turning  to  gaze  after  me. 

"Yes,  indeed,  among  my  treasures,"  I  said. 
"  I  was  waiting  for  Sam  to  take  me  to  the 
opera  to-night.  Here  it  lies  with  my  India 
shawl." 

I  took  it  up,  a  gay  bunch  of  bright  feathers 
with  a  picture  on  one  side,  mounted  on  sandal- 
wood  and  silver  beaten  by  the  patient  toil  of 
India  into  frostlike  flowers  and  leaves,  one 
spray  even  twisted  round  the  red  tassel. 

"Now,  do  tell  me  the  story,"  I  begged. 
"  You  wrote  in  the  note  to  Sam  which  came 
with  it  that  it  was  enchanted.  What  did  you 
mean?" 

He  looked  startled.  "  I  had  nearly  forgot- 
ten that,"  he  said.  "  It  was  a  spell  cast  by 
an  old  Hindoo  whom  I  vexed  by  smiling  at  his 
tricks  of  magic." 

"Has  it  worked?"  I  asked,  lightly,  as  I 
drew  on  my  long  gloves  while  we  waited  for 
Sam,  whose  man  is  so  slow  in  the  last  touches 
of  his  toilet. 

Mr.  Dillon  looked  uneasy.  "  In  spite  of  my 
common  sense,"  he  said,  "though  I  thought  I 


6er0n&  Olarb  toine."        233 


was  above  such  delusions,  I  must  confess  that 
the  spell  is  working.  Where  will  it  end?"  he 
asked  himself. 

"Oh,  how  awful!  What  is  it?"  I  asked, 
adding  with  a  laugh,  "  I  shall  look  at  my 
lovely  fan  with  a  half  fear  of  it." 

"Well,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  thought, 
".I  will  tell  you,  for  it  is  not  you  who  are  to 
suffer.  But,  first,  please  tell  me  the  date  of 
your  marriage." 

"  Why  —  the  fan  was  among  my  bridal 
gifts  !  Have  you  forgotten  when  you  sent  it?" 

"Oh  —  yes,"  he  replied,  with  what  seemed 
a  painful  effort  of  memory.  "  Well,  this  is  its 
story  :  While  I  was  at  the  Rajate  of  Puttiala, 
a  rich  and  powerful  baboo,  Lall  Chunder, 
asked  his  friends  to  come  and  see  a  great 
juggler  show  his  tricks.  Foreigners  and  na- 
tives all  went,  on  elephants,  camels,  and 
horses.  The  baboo's  divan  was  in  the  centre 
of  his  courtyard.  We  sat  round  him,  the 
natives  smoking  hookahs.  There  was  a  din 
of  tumtum  wallahs,  and  a  troop  of  nautch- 
dancers.  Then,  to  the  sound  of  gongs  and 
trumpets,  came  the  sorcerer  on  a  gayly 
decked  elephant.  He  made  gracious  salaams 
to  us,  and,  after  sending  paper  birds  and 
butterflies  in  long  flights  chosen  by  us,  calling 


234        "(&lje  Seconfc  Carfc  (Bins." 

up  from  a  far-off  pack  any  card  we  named, 
and  other  slight  tricks  often  shown,  he  had  a 
fire  made,  into  which  he  cast  fragrant  spices, 
and,  while  they  burned,  he  put  on  a  robe 
covered  with  strange  signs ;  from  a  pocket  in 
this  he  took  a  wooden  ball  full  of  holes  where 
long  thongs  hung  out.  Grasping  one  of  these, 
he  flung  the  ball  into  the  air  with  such  force 
that  it  passed,  unreeling  as  it  went,  at  once 
out  of  our  sight  and  stayed  in  the  clouds. 
Then  he  made  climb  the  thong  a  camel,  which 
quickly  vanished  in  the  sky ;  a  boy  was  sent 
after,  making  many  trips,  and  bringing  at  each 
descent  something  for  the  baboo's  guests. 
These  gifts  were  left  in  a  pile,  while  the  boy 
was  told  to  bring  the  rest  on  the  camel.  He 
went  up,  but  the  animal,  now  loaded,  came 
down  alone.  The  conjurer  called  three  times ; 
then,  in  a  rage,  snatched  a  knife  and  himself 
ran  up  the  thong.  We  could  see  nothing,  but 
heard  his  fierce  threats  and  the  boy's  wild 
cries.  He  soon  threw  down  one  of  the  boy's 
hands,  then  a  foot,  then  the  other  hand,  the 
other  foot,  the  trunk,  and  then  the  head.  He 
ran  down,  panting,  and  with  blood  on  his  robe, 
laid  the  parts  of  the  boy's  body  all  in  place, 
still  raging  at  him,  and  gave  them  a  kick, 
when  the  boy  rose  and  bowed  to  us  and 


8cc0n&  Carfc  tOins."        235 


divided  the  gifts  among  us,  who  were  in  each 
case  chosen  by  the  magician,  after  making  us 
pass  singly  behind  the  vapors  of  hte  mystic 
fire.  With  each  thing  he  gave  some  warning. 
The  natives,  much  excited,  call  on  Brahma, 
Vishnu,  Calle,  and  all  the  calendar  of  Indian 
gods;  but  the  foreigners  smiled  at  the  fine 
jugglery,  and  I  laughed  out.  The  sorcerer 
looked  at  me  long  and  gravely,  and  cast  that 
fan  to  my  lot.  He  came  to  me,  spread  it, 
and,  showing  me  the  picture  on  it,  said:  "I 
have  put  you  there.  That  figure  will  go  away 
when  you  leave  the  world.  Though  you  send 
this  fan  straight  as  an  arrow,  it  shall  yet 
swerve  from  its  course.  When  her  hand 
holds  it,  will  be  when  your  sun  sinks  behind 
a  golden  mist!" 

"But  I  don't  understand/'  said  I,  "about 
the  working  of  the  spell." 

"Come,  come,"  said  Sam,  bustling  in, 
"what  are  you  talking  about,  Mark?  You 
look  too  grave  for  opera  bouffe,"  and  hurried 
us  off. 

During  the  evening  I  overheard  Mr.  Dillon 
ask  Sam,  "Why  did  you  never  write  how 
matters  stood?" 

Sam  took  his  opera-glass  and  looked  over 
the  house,  and  searched  all  his  pockets  for 


236        "(El)*  Seronb  OTarfr  ttlins." 

cardamoms,  before  he  answered,  "Why 
should  I  ?" 

I  knew  at  once  what  they  must  mean.  Of 
course,  Sam  would  prefer  to  have  his  wife 
seen  to  boasting  of  her  beauty. 

After  we  came  home  Sam  asked  how  I  liked 
his  friend. 

"  What  makes  him  seem  so  queer?"  I  said. 

"How?"  demanded  Sam,  bristling,  as  usual, 
for  fear  some  one  may  have  slighted  me. 
"What  did  he  say?"  he  asked,  anxiously. 
"  What  was  he  telling  you  here  ?" 

I  told  him,  adding:  "  He  seems  so  absorbed 
and  odd." 

But  Sam,  who,  while  I  was  telling  him  the 
story,  was  crazy  enough  to  knock  over  my 
best  cloisonn6  bowl  and  break  a  Dresden  vase, 
only  said :  "Asked  when  we  were  married,  did 
he?  The  infernal  climate  of  India  must  have 
affected  his  brain." 

So  I  ceased  to  wonder  at  Mark  Dillon's 
odd  ways,  even  at  his  looking  troubled  at 
seeing  me  carrying  that  fan,  and  really 
trying  to  have  me  change  it  for  a  carved 
cherry-stone  bracelet  he  brought  from  China. 
I  did  not  mind  his  losing  himself  in  thought 
when  near  us,  or  watching  me,  as  if  I 
puzzled  him.  Sam  had  explained  it  all,  but 


Beronfc  (Earfc  tDins."        237 


he  could  never  set  my  mind  at  ease  about 
that  woman. 

I  pride  myself  on  my  power  to  study  char- 
acter and  motives.  It  is  simply  impossible  to 
hoodwink  me.  The  moment  I  first  set  eyes  on 
her  on  the  overland  train  I  thought,  "  There 
is  a  woman  with  a  story."  And  to  think  that 
even  now  I  do  not  know  what  that  story  was 
is  enough  to  make  me  let  down  my  back  hair 
and  scream,  as  I  did  at  Aunt  Ann's  yesterday 
when  the  oysters  were  not  cooked  to  suit  me. 
She  looked  able  to  travel  anywhere  alone,  as 
she  was  then.  I  had  my  maid  and  man- 
servant, of  course.  What  with  my  lovely 
Skye,  and  "Ouida's"  latest,  my  shawls, 
lunch  -  basket,  candy  -jar,  and  writing-desk 
(for  Sam  expects  to  hear  every  day),  I  could 
not  travel  without;  I  don't  see  how  any  one 
can,  though  Babette  was  half-sick  and  wholly 
cross,  and  Alphonse  smelled  of  cheap  cigars  in 
the  smoking-car  ;  so  that  really  I  did  have  my 
troubles.  She  sat  in  the  next  seat,  and  I 
could  not  help  showing  her  some  kindness  in 
the  way  of  canned  turkey,  and  stuffed  olives, 
and  sherry,  for  she  seemed  strong  in  neither 
body  nor  purse.  She  had  severe  nervous 
headaches,  and  I  loaned  her  my  vinaigrette. 
As  she  returned  it,  just  as  we  were  nearing 
San  Francisco,  she  said: 


238        "<&i)e  geconft  (Earir  toins." 

"You  have  been  kind  to  me.  I  am  very 
grateful.  May  I  ask  the  meaning  of  that  mon- 
ogram?" pointing  to  the  initials  set  in  bril- 
liants in  the  side  of  the  little  gold  flask. 

"  My  name  is  Clare/'  I  said.  "  Those  let- 
ters stand  for  my  husband's  name." 

"Ah!"  she  said,  "I  am  also  Mrs.  S.  C. 
My  name  is  Capel." 

"  Indeed!"  said  I;  "that  is  a  name  in  my 
husband's  family.  It  is  his  middle  name." 

"  How  strange !  but  my  husband  has  no 
relatives  living,"  said  she. 

I  wanted  to  ask  about  her  husband,  but 
feared  she  was  a  widow. 

She  seemed  to  read  my  thoughts. 

"  My  husband  is  in  California  somewhere," 
she  went  on.  "I  am  going  to  try  and  find 
him." 

"  Then  you  have  not  lately  heard  from 
him?"  I  asked. 

"  Not  for  ten  years,"  was  her  startling  reply. 

What  would  Sam  say,  I  thought,  to  such 
conduct  in  a  husband ! 

"  How  surprised  he  will  be,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,"  said  she.  "I  did  not  know  where 
to  write." 

I  wanted  to  ask  if  she  thought  he  was 
worthy  of  such  search,  but  I  saw  she  was 


Second  Qlarir  tiOins."        239 


poor.  Perhaps  she  hoped  he  had  money.  Pos- 
sibly she  was  still  fond  of  him.  But  I  thought 
he  had  most  likely  forgotten  her  ;  for,  though 
plainly  a  bright  woman,  she  had  none  of  the 
dainty  curves  and  fair  rose  tints  that  do  a 
man's  eyes  good  —  such  as  I  know  please  Sam 
in  me.  I  urged  her  to  come  to  my  hotel.  I 
had  reached  home  Thursday  night,  a  week 
before  my  husband  expected  me.  I  planned 
to  surprise  him,  but  found  he  had  gone  on  a 
hunting  and  fishing  trip  to  San  Gregorio. 
When  he  came  back,  I  meant  to  make  him 
help  my  new  acquaintance.  I  took  her  under 
my  wing,  chose  her  room,  made  Babette  dress 
her  hair,  and  we  went  down  to  breakfast 
together  Friday  morning,  when  who  should 
sit  in  front  of  us  but  Mark  Dillon  !  He  was 
so  amazed  to  find  I  had  come  that  he  seemed 
really  nervous. 

"Bless  my  soul  —  Mrs.  Clare!"  said  he, 
looking  as  much  at  her  as  at  me,  and  then  got 
very  red  and  confused.  I  never  quite  knew 
before  how  much  he  admired  me.  I  felt  so 
glad  to  be  at  home  again,  I  urged  him  to  come 
to  my  rooms  after  breakfast  and  practice 
duets.  When  he  came,  Mrs.  Capel  was  with 
me,  and  I  presented  him  to  her.  I  saw  then 
he  did  not  seem  at  ease. 


240        "fftlje  Secottb  Carir  toins." 

"  This  is  a  new  friend  of  mine,"  I  told  him. 
"  Her  husband  is  somewhere  in  California, 
and  I  am  going  to  help  her  find  him." 

"  You — help  her !  Good  gracious — no — yes 
—  certainly — oh!  of  course — by  all  means," 
was  his  strange  reply. 

He  seemed  more  absent-minded  than  ever, 
as  if  trying  to  see  his  way  clear  for  something. 
At  last  he  said:  "Mrs.  Clare,  I  got  a  letter 
last  night  from  Sam.  Want  to  hear  it?" 

"  No,"  said  I ;  "  I  found  one  waiting  for  me, 
in  case  I  got  here  while  he  was  gone." 

"Ah!  with  a  sonnet  to  your  eyebrow?"  he 
asked. 

"  No.  Sam  never  writes  verse  to  me  now- 
adays," I  said. 

"  He  does  to  me,"  said  he;  "  and  I  want 
you  ladies  to  hear  it,"  with  stress  on  the  word 
"  ladies,"  as  he  saw  Mrs.  Capel  about  to  leave 
the  room.  She  waited.  He  went  on :  "  Sam 
has  sent  up  a  rare  shot  of  his,  a  loon,  to  be 
stuffed  for  our  club-rooms.  Says  he  has  not 
had  very  good  luck  this  season,  and  it  seems 
to  have  made  him  downhearted,  to  judge  from 
his  rhymes : 


241 


PORTENT. 

No  looker-on— but  wild  growth,  like  the  fern, 
I  feel  the  hidden  current's  forceful  sway ; 

I  must  attend  to  weird  cries  of  the  hern, 
Must  round  the  marsh  with  phantom  vapors  stray. 

And  pause,  breast-high,  where  reeds  and  rushes  rear 
Their  flaunting  craze,  to  watch  the  white  gulls'  flight, 

As,  high  athwart  wide-roving  clouds,  they  veer 
Through  darkening  air,  like  waning  flecks  of  light. 

The  sluggish  water  dreads  the  storm's  first  dip, 
Turns  rolling  eyes  of  light  toward  sullen  sky ; 

The  winds,  as  in  the  cordage  of  a  ship, 
Through  tangled  forest  wander  piping  by. 

They  mock  the  cries  of  shipwrecked  sailors ;  shout, 
And  wail,  and  laugh,  till  I,  excited,  scream  — 

Dead  silence  follows !  for  the  goblin  rout 
Then  know  man's  presence  in  their  sylvan  dream. 

I  turn  where  cypress  branches  interlace 

To  arch  against  the  sun's  red  wane, 
Outlining  vast  cathedral's  gloomy  space, 

Half-lit  by  Gothic  window's  scarlet  stain. 

Within  this  holy  hush  and  solitude 
Entranced  1  linger,  and  forget — forget; — 

No  Past  above  me  here  can  darkly  brood, 
Nor  Future  watch  upon  my  footsteps  set. 

What  voice  of  hidden  Mephistopheles 
With  scornful  echo  startles  the  lagoon? 

I  feel  the  current  of  my  life-blood  freeze 
At  dread  derisive  laughter  of  a  loon ! 


242        "  Htye  0ec0nir  QTarfc  tDins 


Alas  !—  although  I  shot  him  —  in  my  dreams 
1  hear  his  warning  cry,  and  watch  the  storm, 

Till,  where  the  lightnii  j  through  the  shadow  gleams 
Upon  the  marsh,  I  see  my  lifeless  form  '  " 

"  What  nonsense  !  "  I  began,  when  the'  look 
on  his  face  and  hers  stopped  me.  He  had 
handed  her  the  verses  to  look  at,  but,  with 
only  a  glance  at  them,  she  was  looking  at  him 
with  a  painfully  earnest  question  in  her  gaze, 
while  his  face  was  that  of  a  culprit  who  is- 
caught.  For  the  moment  I  could  have  sworn 
they  were  not  the  strangers  I  had  thought 
them.  Then  she  rose,  tried  to  excuse  herself, 
and  started  to  go  to  her  room,  but  was  so 
faint,  I,  with  Babette,  had  to  help  her  reach  it. 

"  Worn  out  from  her  journey,"  I  explained 
to  Mr.  Dillon. 

"No  excuse  needed,  Mrs.  Clare;  I  saw  for 
myself." 

Then  he  made  a  series  of  failures  with  our 
duets  for  flute  and  piano  which  were  wont  to 
make  us  sure  of  being  asked  to  musical  par- 
ties. In  the  middle  of  Drouet's  "  Semiram- 
ide"  he  broke  down,  and  turned  it  off  by 
asking: 

"Where  did  you  make  her  acquaintance?" 

"  On  the  overland  train.  Ah,  you  are  smit- 
ten, as  1  was,"  I  said. 


Seronb  (Earfc  toins."        243 


" 


Are  you  pleased  with  her?"  he  asked. 
Sworn   lasting  friendship,   and  vowed  to 
help  her  find  her  own  true  love,"  said  I. 

To  hide  his  next  mistake  he  said,  "How  do 
you  know  he  is  her  own  true  love  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  know  he  must  be,"  I  replied. 

"The  word  'fickle'  is  unknown  to  you?" 
he  asked. 

"Yes.     Isn't  Sam  my  model?" 

He  failed  again,  and  begged  to  be  excused 
from  further  practice. 

Mrs.  Capel  kept  her  room  with  a  nervous 
headache  all  Saturday,  but  on  Sunday  I  made 
her  drive  with  Mr.  Dillon  and  me  to  the  Cliff 
House.  I  wisely  planned  it  so  neither  knew 
the  other  was  going  until  too  late  to  pause  — 
starting  with  her  and  taking  him  up  on  the 
way.  There  was  a  warning  of  coming  storm 
in  the  black  haze  that,  as  Mr.  Dillon  said, 
made  the  air  a  magic  crystal,  showing  far-off 
places  as  if  near,  and  by  the  time  we  had 
finished  luncheon  and  gone  out  on  the  balcony, 
a  wall  of  fog  hid  the  sea  but  for  what  seemed 
a  short  space  before  us.  Some  one  in  the  par- 
lor played  a  snatch  of  Wagner's  "Spinning- 
Song." 

"  Too  monotonous,"  I  said. 

"The   droning  wheel,"  said  Dillon;   "but 


244        "Stye  Seconir  OTarir  toin0." 

you  can  hear  the  footfall  of  fate,  see  the  red 
sails  and  black  masts  of  the  doomed  ship,  and, 
in  Listz's  version,  hear  the  wind  whistle  in 
the  rigging."  He  turned  to  her  as  if  she  had 
asked  a  question.  "But  when  the  captain 
finds  Senta  at  her  wheel,  she  is  bound  to 
another." 

"What  can  be  done  then?"  I  asked. 

"  Truly,"  said  he,  still  looking  at  her, 
"  what  can  be  done?" 

She  thought  a  moment  before  replying: 
"  There  is  the  decision  of  Heine's  lover : 

"  'As  fickle  as  the  wind  thy  heart 

That  flutters  to  and  fro ; 
With  black  sails  sails  my  ship, 
Across  the  seas  to  go."1 

He  sprang  up  and  began  pacing  up  and 
down,  when  suddenly  a  full-rigged  vessel, 
looming  through  the  mist,  passed  within  hail, 
more  phantom-like  than  real. 

"  Like  a  dream !  "  she  said. 

"And  to  them,"  said  he,  "this  shore  looks 
like  dreamland." 

"  Noiseless,  ghostly,  and  swift  as  the  '  Fly- 
ing Dutchman/  "  she  said. 

"How  absurd  for  people  to  rave  over  that 
opera!  "  said  I.  "  That  old  fogy  striding  along 


"Stye  Beconfc  €arir  toins."        245 

the  beach,  so  many  paces  to  certain  orchestral 
chords,  and  so  on ;  nothing  to  get  so  excited 
over,  as  folks  like  you  all  do." 

"It  is  because  he  is  fated — like  the  figure 
on  the  fan,"  he  said  with  a  sigh,  and  asked 
us  to  excuse  him  a  while.  I  was  glad  to  have 
him  go,  for  she  had  caught  his  trick  of  watch- 
ing me,  and  I  was  impatient  under  the  musing 
gaze  of  two. 

When  he  had  gone,  she  asked :  "  Suppose  it 
to  be  Senta  who  finds  the  Captain  faithless, 
what  ought  she  to  do?" 

"  You  could  ask  no  better  person,"  I  said. 

"How  do  you  mean?"  she  asked,  looking 
at  me  with  wonder. 

I  felt  proud  of  being  appealed  to.  /  knew 
what  should  be  done,  and  I  told  her  at  once : 
"  Make  him  pay  for  the  ship  she  sets  sail  in." 

"  Money ! "  she  said  bitterly. 

"  Yes,"  said  I.  "A  man  should  pay  for  for- 
getting me.  But  such  a  thing  is  not  possible 
to  Sam." 

"One  would  think  you,  who  have  all  the 
money  you  want,  would  not  value  it,"  she 
said. 

"  Not  quite  all  I  want.  Sam  has  promised 
me  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  for  my  birth- 
day, next  week,  and  I  am  glad  to  get  it." 


246        "t&tye  Second  (tarir 


"A  hundred  thousand  dollars  !  "  she  said,  as 
if  deep  in  thought;  and  after  a  pause  went 
on  :  "  Suppose  a  woman  to  have  had  two 
lovers,  and  to  have  chosen  the  one  who  proves 
least  faithful  -  " 

"  Don't  fancy  such  things  !  "  I  cried.  "Wait 
till  he  is  found.  Oh,  why  don't  you  advertise 
for  your  husband?" 

"Lost,  strayed,  or  stolen,"  drawled  Mr. 
Dillon,  who  had  lounged  back  unseen,  and 
startled  us  by  speaking. 

"  How  shall  I  make  amends?"  he  asked. 

"  By  writing  some  verses  about  that  mirage- 
like  vision  of  a  sail,"  said  Mrs.  Capel. 

While  he  wrote,  with  note-book  on  knee, 
the  fog  cleared,  and  there  was  a  strange  sun- 
set which  charmed  them,  but  I  was  too  vexed 
over  the  damp  the  fog  left  on  my  crimps  to  care. 

He  said  :  "  A  poem  in  colors  !  " 

She  quoted  :  *  '  The  setting  of  a  great  hope 
is  like  the  setting  of  the  sun  !  " 

"Why  was  that  not  said  in  verse  instead  of 
prose?"  said  he. 

"Use  it,"  she  hinted. 

"  It  would  be  no  worse  theft,"  he  answered, 
"than  'Sweet  By-and-By,'  which  is  but  a 
poor  version  of  the  old  Irish  air,  *  Has  sorrow 
thy  young  days  shaded?'  " 


Second  Carfc  toins."        247 


Soon  after  he  read  to  us : 

HAPHAZARD. 

In  the  balcony  jutting  above  the  wild  ocean, 
Like  scene  an  Arabian  Night  reveals, 

Where  oft  we  linger,  with  gay  emotion, 
To  look  at  the  rocks  and  the  sunning  seals, 

To  number  the  clouds  and  the  gulls,  wind-shaken, 
And  name  the  crowding  white  horses  whose  manes 

Float  and  flutter  to  spray  as  they  sink  overtaken  — 
Th'  sea  reclaims  — 

'T  was  here  we  stood,  when  a  mist  unbroken 
Made  the  world  seem  sketched  on  a  vapored  pane, 

Gray  walls  surrounded,  and  blurred  all  token 
Whether  sun  or  moon  might  arise  or  wane ; 

'T  was  like  a  dawning  or  dreamy  gloaming, 
And  a  potent  spell  upon  you  and  me, 

For  as  we  paused  there  our  thoughts  were  roaming 
Ships  at  sea. 

As  if  in  conjurer's  crystal,  looming 
Through  murky  depths,  sailed  a  ship  afar 

Like  thistle-down  in  its  phantom  blooming, 
Or  a  floating  film  a  breath  might  mar; 

As  if  carved  of  the  moonstone's  cloudy  sheen, 
Through  the  mist  it  glimmered  with  softened  glow, 

Ai  J  its  sails  afret  with  the  wind  were  seen 
Intaglio. 

And  you  murmured,  "  Perhaps  in  that  vessel  one 
passes 

Whom  we  might  have  adored  had  we  known ; 
And  it  may  be  their  view  our  own  so  surpasses 

Their  fantasies  shoreward  are  blown." 


248        "  f&tye  Qeconb 


"Alas!"  I  answered,  "We  have  no  warning 

When  the  things  that  almost  occur  are  near  — 
Or,  like  our  dreams  between  dusk  and  dawning, 
Disappear!" 

Then  they  fell  to  talking  of  omens,  second 
sight,  the  sway  of  one  mind  over  another,  and 
such  ghostly  stuff,  to  my  high  glee  and  scorn. 

"  People  who  can  believe  in  such  things,"  I 
said,  "are  easily  duped/' 

"Mrs.  Clare,"  he  said,  "as  I  have  often 
told  you,  you  must  some  time  be  most  com- 
pletely fooled.  It  is  sure  to  be.  " 

I  had  not  time  to  tell  him  what  a  vain  boast 
this  was,  when  Sam,  who  had  reached  town, 
learned  where  we  had  gone,  and  followed, 
came  out  among  us.  As,  nodding  to  Mr.  Dil- 
lon, he  rushed  toward  me,  he  noticed  Mrs. 
Capel,  but  he  was  quite  overcome  at  the 
sight  of  me.  He  turned  pale,  his  eyes 
flashed,  he  could  scarcely  speak. 

"What  is  it?"  I  cried.     "Are  you  ill?" 

He  tried  to  turn  it  off  with  some  pretense  of 
a  passing  faintness,  but  he  seemed  stunned. 
Of  course,  I  understood  —  he  was  vexed  not 
to  have  been  here  when  I  returned. 

"Why  didn't  I  hear  from  you?"  he  asked 
Mr.  Dillon,  angrily. 

"I  sent  a  dispatch  in  reply  to  your  letter," 
said  his  friend. 


Qetorib  Cfltfc  toins."        249 


"  I  never  got  it,"  said  Sam,  crossly. 

1  think  Mrs.  Capel  must  have  one  of  the 
sensitive  electroplate  minds  Mr.  Dillon  talks 
of;  for  she  said  nothing,  only,  turning  red  and 
pale  by  turns,  watched  Sam  with  searching 
gaze,  as  was  natural  when  I  had  promised  her 
his  help.  I  hastened  to  make  them  acquainted, 
to  tell  him  about  her,  and  beg  him  to  aid  her 
to  find  her  husband  ;  but  she  put  up  one  hand 
as  if  to  stop  me,  vainly  tried  to  speak,  and 
looking  an  appeal  to  Mark  Dillon  —  I  shall 
always  think  his  queer  aspect  then  was  con- 
scious guilt,  —  slid  out  of  her  chair  in  a  deep 
swoon,  from  which  Mr.  Dillon  and  I  had  hard 
work  to  revive  her,  while  Sam  looked  on, 
frightened  and  displeased.  He  was  so  kind  he 
would  not  come  to  town  with  us  for  fear  of 
crowding  us  in  her  faint  state.  But  I  knew  he 
was  angry  to  have  our  meeting  so  broken  in 
upon  by  a  stranger.  Indeed,  it  made  him 
take  such  a  dislike  to  her  that  he  refused  to 
have  anything  to  say  to  her. 

"  You  are  prejudiced,"  1  said. 

"Perhaps  1  am,"  he  replied,  coolly,  and 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  her.  He 
seemed  all  worn  out  by  his  trip  to  San  Gre- 
gorio,  and  in  the  evening  had  a  severe  fit  of 
cramp  in  his  right  arm  and  shoulder.  My 


250        "fftlje  Ketonb  Carir  toins.1' 

head  was  so  full  of  Mrs.  Capel  that  I  had  just 
burst  out  about  it : 

"  I  believe  I  know  where  to  lay  my  hand  on 
her  husband." 

Sam  looked  amazed,  gave  a  husky  sort  of 
roar,  and  that  very  moment  was  seized  with 
this  cramp  that  kept  his  man  rubbing  him  for 
a  long  time.  When  Alphonse  had  been  sent 
out,  I  went  on,  though  Sam  had  to  look  over 
some  business  papers,  and  could  hardly  attend 
to  me. 

"  I  feel  sure  that  Mr.  Dillon  knows,"  I  said. 

Sam  looked  up  as  if  annoyed.  He  cannot 
bear  anything  roundabout,  while  I  like  mys- 
teries. Perhaps  because  I  can  solve  them. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  at  the  risk  of  vexing  him 
about  his  friend,  "/  believe  he  is  her  hus- 
band." 

Sam  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  the  cramp  had 
been  so  bad.  With  an  admiring  glance  he 
cried  "By  Jove!  I  never  thought  of  that. 
There 's  woman's  keen  wit !  " 

But  then  I  always  knew  I  was  more  shrewd 
than  others.  "As  a  reward  of  merit"  he 
brought  me  some  fine  candies,  saying,  "A 
Market -street  confectioner  advertises  these 
as  *  high-toned.'  Does  he  mean  their  rank 
flavor?" 


Seconb  Carb  toins."        251 


Perhaps  they  made  me  dream,  as  the  lady 
in  the  next  room  says  it  is  the  sugar  in  the 
whisky-punch  which  flies  to  one's  head  ;  any- 
way, I  dreamed  strangely  that  night.  I 
seemed  to  stand  at  the  elbow  of  some  man 
whose  face  I  could  not  see  as  he  bent  over  a 
letter  he  was  writing  —  a  queer  letter;  and 
the  dream  was  so  plain  that  I  saw  him  trace 
each  word,  and,  leaning  over  him,  read  as  he 
wrote  : 

"As  disembodied  spirits  we  might  agree  ;  but  as  life 
is  as  it  is,  so  dependent  on  our  mortal  frames  and  tem- 
peraments, I  have  made  my  choice." 

I  roused  from  sleep  to  find  myself  in  bed 
alone.  Babette  had  left  the  night-lamp  burn- 
ing, as  usual.  I  knew  Sam  was  in  the  next 
room  casting  up  accounts,  as  he  often  sat  up 
to  do.  Then,  puzzling  over  Mark  Dillon  and 
that  woman,  I  dropped  off  again  —  to  the  same 
dream  —  the  figure  writing  with  face  bent 
toward  the  right,  and  myself  standing  at  his 
left  shoulder.  He  had  written  on,  and  while 
I  watched,  his  hand  formed  these  words  : 

"  Silence,  with  instant  departure  for  Europe,  with  a 
solemn  promise  never  to  return  or  send  a  message  to 
me  by  word  or  letter.  These  are  my  sole  terms,  even 
if  I  must  pay  at  the  rate  of  a  thousand  dollars  for  each 
letter  in  the  words." 


252        "(El)*  Bttorib  Carfc 


Again  I  struggled  to  my  senses  ;  I  sat  up  in 
bed  to  be  sure  I  was  now  awake.  Sam  came 
in,  and  was  alarmed,  thinking  I  was  ill. 

"  I  wish,"  said  I,  "I  could  give  Mr.  Dillon  a 
piece  of  my  mind." 

'  '  Better  not  meddle  in  what  does  not  con- 
cern you,"  said  Sam,  quite  gruffly  for  him. 

An  hour  or  two  later,  I  was  roused  by  Sam's 
talking  in  his  sleep.  "  Is  she  not  worth  a  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars?"  he  muttered.  He  was 
dreaming  of  the  sum  he  had  promised  me. 
Then  he  grew  angry.  "  Why  won't  you 
go?"  he  cried,  fiercely.  "There  is  the 
money!  " 

"Sam!  Sam!"  I  called,  "who  is  meddling 
now  with  other  folks'  affairs.  You  are  dream- 
ing." 

Only  half-awake,  he  cried  :  *  '  You  shall  not 
part  us  !  "  and  grasped  me  firmly  by  the  arm. 

"  What  is  the  matter?"  I  said,  waking  him 
at  last. 

"What  was  I  saying?"  he  asked  anxiously, 
and  scarcely  slept  again.  So  I  did  not  wonder 
he  did  not  want  to  go  to  the  theatre  Monday 
night,  as  I  had  before  his  return  engaged  with 
Mrs.  Capel  and  his  friend  to  do. 

"You  must  guard  yourself  to-night,"  I  said 
to  Mr.  Dillon,  as  we  went  to  call  for  Mrs. 


Seconb  OTarb  toins."        253 


Capel.  "  I  have  lent  her  the  bewitched 
fan." 

1  did  not  think  of  his  taking  it  seriously  ;  but 
he  muttered  :  "  Great  heavens  !  has  it  reached 
her  at  last?" 

"  What  is  that?"  I  asked.  "  It  seems  to  me 
we  are  all  a  little  crazy  about  this  stranger." 

"  It  is  all  your  fault,"  he  answered;  "you 
brought  her  here." 

"Did  1?"  I  asked.  "It  was  her  absent 
husband  —  you  know  very  well  what  brought 
her  —  I  think  you  know  him.1'  I  added  this 
recklessly,  but  was  surprised  at  the  effect  ;  he 
got  so  excited. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Clare,"  he  cried,  "don't  ask 
me  anything  about  it!  I  know  nothing,  noth- 
ing, nothing!  " 

"As  well  as  you  know  yourself"  I  went 
on;  "you  are  —  "  I  faltered.  I  felt  I  was 
verging  on  rudeness.  We  had  reached  her 
door.  I  dared  not  go  on.  But  he  understood. 

"7—  her  husband!  It  is  like  telling  a  man 
who  is  bound  hand  and  foot  that  he  is  free  ! 
I—" 

But  his  nervous  knock  brought  her  at  once 
to  her  door,  and  I  lost  whatever  he  meant  to 
say. 

After  we  were  in  our  box,  Mrs.  Capel  looked 


254        "®l)e  Seronb  (Earir  tains." 

at  the  play-bill.  "  The  burlesque  Evan- 
geline!"  she  exclaimed,  and  turned  to  Mr. 
Dillon.  "  You  have  known  a  burlesque  Evan- 
geline  in  real  life.  There  are  such  footballs  of 
fate." 

He  looked  quickly  at  me.  "We  will  not 
talk  of  unhappy  things  to-night,"  he  said; 
then,  turning  to  her,  added:  " Silence  is 
golden.'" 

Bent  on  making  us  enjoy,  he  brought  us 
flowers  and  candy,  and  talked  more  than  his 
wont.  He  toyed  a  while  with  the  Indian  fan, 
sketching  the  history  of  fans,  and  ending,  as 
he  returned  it  to  Mrs.  Capel,  with :  "Among 
the  Asiatics  a  fan  on  a  plate  of  special  shape 
told  a  condemned  nobleman  his  sentence,  and 
when  he  reached  to  take  the  gift,  was  the  mo- 
ment of  losing  his  life." 

"What  a  sigh  you  gave  as  you  took  the 
fan,  Mrs.  Capel,"  I  said,  "as  \iyou  had  been 
sentenced." 

"  To  exile  —  with  no  hope  of  reprieve,"  said 
Mr.  Dillon. 

Some  stir  of  late-comers  caught  my  glance ; 
when  I  again  looked  at  Mrs.  Capel  her  breast 
heaved,  the  fan,  half-open,  shook  in  her  hand; 
behind  it  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  long  slip  of 
paper,  like  a  check. 


Senmb  QTarfc  toins."        255 


"  I  feel  faint,"  she  said.  Mr.  Dillon  brought 
her  some  water,  and  then  she  sat  back  out  of 
sight,  and  he  talked  to  me  about  those  we 
knew  who  were  in  the  house.  But  as  I  do  not 
choose  to  let  people  dupe  me  with  secrets  right 
under  my  eyes,  I  soon  said: 

"  Was  that  a  love  poem  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  asked. 

"  That  paper  slyly  thrust  in  and  creased  to 
fold  with  the  fan,"  I  said. 

I  think  the  sounds  from  the  orchestra 
screened  a  muttered  oath,  he  looked  so 
angry. 

"  Was  it  poetry?"  I  insisted. 

"  Not  poetry,  but  a  bit  of  philosophy  —  and 
a  secret  of  mine,"  he  added. 

"  I  shall  ask  her  to  let  me  see  it,"  I  said,  for 
I  was  provoked  that  he  should  try  to  fool  me. 

He  seemed  confused,  and,  turning,  looked  at 
Mrs.  Capel.  The  fan  lay  closed  in  her  lap. 
"Allow  me,"  he  said,  gently  taking  it  from 
her.  At  the  same  moment  his  glance,  roving 
over  the  house,  fell  on  some  one  he  knew. 
"  Excuse  me,"  he  said,  and  rushed  out.  He 
came  back  almost  at  once,  and,  sitting  beside 
me,  opened  the  fan,  withdrew  a  slip  of  thin 
paper  from  the  sliding  sticks  and  gave  it  to  me. 
1  quickly  unfolded  it  and  found  —  a  blank  ! 


256        "QTlje  Scconb  QTarfc  tains.1' 

"  Mrs.  Clare,  you  have  a  very  vivid  fancy," 
he  said,  with  his  cynical  smile,  which  makes 
me  sometimes  almost  hate  him,  and  think  if 
not  Sam's  friend  I  would  cut  him. 

"  Only  think,"  he  went  on,  "  how  all  these 
commonplace  people  around  us  have  each  a 
story  as  picturesque  and  diverting  as  any 
play!  There  is  a  chance  for  your  fancy." 

11 1  should  like  to  know  all  about  their  pri- 
vate lives,"  I  said. 

"  Heaven  forbid!"  he  cried.  "Never  try 
to  go  behind  the  scenes  in  real  life.  You 
would  find  the  same  dingy  makeshifts,  cur- 
tains, traps,  and  sudden  steps  up  and  down, 
as  on  the  stage." 

Mrs.  Capel  came  forward,  and  seemed  like 
herself  again.  But  I  watched  them  both,  for 
I  felt  that  1  was  on  the  track  of  a  strange 
story.  Coming  out,  I  was  behind  them,  and 
found  on  the  floor  where  Mrs.  Capel  had  been 
sitting  a  sheet  of  paper,  on  which  these  lines 
were  written  (without  doubt,  Mr.  Dillon  had 
meant  them  for  me.  I  cannot  remember 
breaking  any  promise  to  him — that  is,  of 
course,  just  poetical  flummery.  He  must,  man- 
like, have  forgotten  for  the  moment  that  I  had 
lent  the  fan,  and  that  it  was  not  I  who  would 
find  them  in  it,  and  his  feint  about  the  blank 


"®l)e  Qetorib  OTarfc  toins."        257 

paper   was  done  to  hide  his    shame   at  his 
blunder.     It  was  all  quite  plain) : 

A  FANTASY. 

"  Eclipse,  and  sound  of  shaken  hills  and  wings 
Darkening,  and  blind  inexpiable  things." 

I. -THE  FAN. 

Toy  the  most  feminine !    Woman's  will !    Yet  — 
Chinese  the  saying  is—  now  I  forget! 

Ivory,  filmy,  the  fan  of  frail  fret 

Holding  one  realm 
With  the  Marie  Antoinette  collaret 
Baleful  in  ray,  crime  beset  carcanet 

Famed  gem  on  gem. 

Eight  words  by  Chinese  sage  at  Woman  hurled. 
In  minor  tones  my  heart-throbs  there  upwhirled ! 

Bauble  of  lace  all  embroidered,  unfurled 

Shadow  in  freak, 

That,  at  the  court  and  play,  feigned  to  the  world 
Blush-roses  bloomed  upon  rouged  and  empearled 

Pompadour's  cheek. 

That  pedant  ere  he  posed  o'er  learned  primer, 
Quaffed  Rose-In-Bloom  romance  in  foaming  brimmer! 

Down    through   the    Feasts    of   the  Lantern    that 
glimmer 

Three  thousand  years, 
After  the  eye  of  fair  Kansi  lent  shimmer 
Over  her  masque,  premier  fan,  none  make  dimmer 

This  of  vague  fears ! 


258        "®l)c  geconb  (Harb  toins." 


II.— SPREAD. 

Reed  broken ;  trailing  wing :  a  darkened  sky ; 
Each  are  inherence  of  that  bitter  cry ! 

Far,  high  horizon,  leaning  awry, 

A  pallid  moon 

Ruminant  wandering  through  a  blue  sky. 
Curlew  low  flying,  gull  hanging  high, 

Down-tilting  loon. 

World-grief  Is  through  his  murmur  surging  free, 
So  moan  the  billows,  and  the  wind  in  tree ! 

Who  is  here,  roaming  alone  by  the  sea, 

Drift  on  the  shore, 

Blown  and  oblique?    Let  the  dream -figure  flee  I 
Why  doth  he,  beating  his  brow,  turn  to  me? 

What  to  deplore? 

His  breaking  heart  in  a  proverb  embalming, 
How  could  a  cynic  —  in  China  — be  harming? 

Picture  of  dread,  a  prophetic  alarming, 

Fate  and  despair ! 

Meanwhile  the  orchestra  thrills  with  its  charming 
Traumbilder^  Lumbye,  composer,  becalming 

Castle  in  air ! 

111.- FURLED. 

Phrase  like  a  ghost  with  a  finger  on  lip ! 
Love-hooded  heart  like  a  bird  let  to  slip  ! 


"ftlje  Second  (Hard  tomg."        259 


Plume  upon  plume  here  with  down  on  the  tip, 

Hovered  in  flight 

O'er  bramble-hid  city,  voyaging  ship, 
Desert,  mirage  and  simoon,  but  to  dip      * 

At  tranquil  height. 

On  wind  of  every  fan  blown  to  its  aim, 

Blows,  blowing  yet,  that  sigh  of  wrathful  blame ! 

Filigree-silver  and  sandal-wood  frame 

Hint  caravan ; 

Deep  mining-tunnel  with  torches  aflame ; 
Incense  and  rite  in  the  great  Brahma  name, 

Blessing  or  ban. 

All  the  world  over  doth  Beauty  cajole, 
Love  learn  the  wisdom  of  that  Chinese  dole ! 

Clouds  of  enchantment  around  you  uproll 

From  fan  and  glove, 

As  if  each  flower  you  Ve  worn  left  its  soul, 
Like  painted  dream,  where  to  Earth  downward  stole 

Cherub,  or  Love ! 

IV.— THE  TASSEL. 

Few  are  his  words,  but  how  much  they  betray ; 
Pathos  of  novel  or  heart-rending  play ! 

If —as  the  Magi  held— though  all  astray, 

Life  a  blind  road, 
I  but  intangible  fibre  obey 
Spun  from  unpitying  star  01  my  day, 

What  may  this  bode  ? 


260        "®l)e  Seconb  €arb 


My  heart  his  tent,  I  hear  him  low  complain: 
Star  falling,  venomed  flower,  are  in  the  strain  ! 

Mine  to  be  fashioned  like  mere  tassel-skein  ? 

Frosted  the  flame, 

Chill  of  your  coldness  to  fire  in  my  vein ! 
//  Flung  from  your  hand  as  whim  may  ordain. 

Like  puppet-game? 

V.-  THE  BOX. 

Passionate  sage  and  I !    Hearts  of  one  race ! 
On  my  Great  Wall  of  woe  his  words  I  trace ! 

Trifle  may  prophesy,  even  that  case, 

Cushioned  with  crape. 
Broad,  rounded  top  with  a  narrowing  base, 
Black  on  the  white  of  your  velvet  and  lace, 

A  coffin  shape ! 

The  saying  ?    Truth  —  in  China  or  Japan  • 
A  woman's  word  is  like  a  broken  fan  ! 

Tuesday,  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  street; 
the  elevator  had  just  touched  the  ground-floor, 
when  I  found  that  stupid  Babette  had  given 
me  the  wrong  gloves,  two  of  the  same  hue, 
but  where  one  had  twelve  buttons  the  other 
had  but  six.  I  signed  to  the  boy  to  go  up 
again ;  but  he  waited  for  a  couple  just  coming 
from  the  street-door,  who  entered,  and,  in  the 


Beronb  €orb  tDina."        261 


change  from  outdoors  to  darkness,  did  not  see 
me  in  the  corner,  but  kept  on  talking. 

"You  must  cheer  up,"  she  said,  "and  not 
look  on  life  as  a  losing  game." 

"  Perhaps  you  thought  it  one,"  he  sneered, 
"till  you  had  the  chance  to  cry  checkmate. 
You  can  talk  thus  when  you  could  give  up  the 
certainty  of  happiness  in  a  second  venture, 
give  up  the  most  constant  of  your  girlhood's 
lovers,  give  up  the  opportunity  to  redeem  a 
broken  promise  —  all  for  the  possibilities  of 
money! " 

"But  think  of  those  possibilities!"  she 
answered;  "happiness  is  among  them  as 
surely  as  money  need  not  be  reckoned  in  hap- 
piness, ^fou  cannot  judge;  you  have  not 
known  the  bitter  taste  of  poverty 

"  But  I  do  judge.  1  know  you  are  lost  in  a 
golden  mist.  1  can  not  see  how  you  could  keep 
from  seizing  your  freedom." 

"At  the  cost  of  that  butterfly's  wings?" 
she  asked.  "Why  should  I  break  down  a 
lovely  flower?  I  could  not  hurt  one  who  has 
been  kind  to  me." 

"  But  my  conscience  is  not  easy  to  have 
matters  go  this  way,"  said  he. 

"What  is  a  man's  conscience?"  she  said. 
"  A  passing  gust  of  wind  that  blows  in  the  line 


262        "  <g|e  Second  Car&  toins. 


of  his  glance,  always  coming  up  behind  him, 
never  blowing  against  him!" 

"But  he  has  obeyed  the  dictates  of  con- 
science in  —  " 

"Dictates  of  conscience!"  she  broke  in, 
"  in  a  man  who  knows  no  difference  between 
a  desire  and  a  duty!" 

"  I  can  not  wonder  that  you  are  bitter,"  he 
said,  "  to  find  your  husband  as  you  have  —  " 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Capel!"  I  cried,  grasping  her 
arm,  "  have  you  found  him?  Oh,  I'm  so 
glad!  —  kiss  me,  my  dear.  Oh,  tell  me  all 
about  it!  Come  to  my  rooms  —  I  will  not  go 
out  this  afternoon." 

I  suppose  1  startled  them  both,  seizing  hold 
of  her  in  the  dimness,  for  she  really  screamed  : 
"O  my  soul!  I  didn't  see  you!" 

"  Great  heavens!  Mrs.  Clare!"  cried  Mark 
Dillon.  ''Mrs.  Capel  is  not  well.  She  is  on 
her  way  to  her  room  to  lie  down.  She  has 
found—" 

"A  kind  friend  in  you,  Mrs.  Clare,"  she 
broke  in.  "I  feel  your  sympathy.  No  —  I 
have  —  not  found  —  the  man  I  married." 

Then  the  elevator  touched  our  floor,  and  she 
and  I  stepped  out.  Mr.  Dillon  bowed  and 
went  down  again.  Mrs.  Capel's  eyes  gleamed, 
and  her  lips  wore  a  tense  curve,  as  she  begged 


Seconb  €arb  toina."        263 


me  to  excuse  her;  she  needed  rest.  As  I 
watched  her  pass  down  the  hall,  her  air  made 
me  think  of  the  woman  Sam  can  not  bear  to 
see  walk  into  the  dining-room,  because  her  gait 
recalls  some  one  he  has  known.  The  more  I 
thought  over  their  strange  talk  together,  the 
more  sure  I  felt  that  there  was  some  secret 
between  them.  I  meant  to  know  what. 

Our  hotel  gave  a  hop  on  Wednesday  night. 
Sam  and  I  were  on  the  floor  waiting  for  the 
music  to  begin.  He  often  gets  the  band  to 
play  what  he  likes. 

"  Have  you  told  the  leader  what  you  will 
have?"  asked  Mark  Dillon,  as  he  strolled  up 
to  us.  "  Shall  I  name  '  The  Open  Road*  ?" 

/'Or  'Man  lives  but  once,'"  Sam  an- 
swered, and  his  friend  gave  the  order. 

When  we  sat  down,  he  joined  us,  saying, 
after  one  of  his  old,  long  looks  at  me  : 

"Well—  Mrs.  Capel  has  gone." 

Sam  walked  off,  as  he  always  did  when  she 
was  spoken  of.  So  dull  of  Mr.  Dillon  not  to 
know  /was  the  one  most  interested  in  her. 

"  Without  a  word  of  farewell!"  I  said. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  answered;  "she  sent  a 
good-by  to  you.  She  got  a  letter  Monday 
night  that  caused  her  sudden  start.  She 
meant  to  leave  yesterday  morning,  but  missed 
he  train." 


264        "®l)e  Seconb  Carb  toms." 

"Poor  woman!"  said  I.  "How  I  wish  we 
could  have  helped  her !  She  had  her  journey 
for  nothing." 

"No,"  he  said;  "she  gained  by  it — expe- 
rience." 

"  Yes,"  said  1;  "  she  is  richer,  I  suppose." 

"  Ah?"     He  spoke  as  if  surprised. 

"Yes,"  1  answered;  "in  thought  and 
feeling." 

"  Oh — yes,"  said  he;  "  yes,  I  think  she  is 
richer.  It  has  been  worth  to  her  at  least  a 
hundred  thousand  dollars." 

He  was  watching  me  so  closely  that  I  knew 
he  felt  I  suspected  him,  and  1  changed  the 
subject  by  asking:  "  Isn't  it  a  shame  about 
the  break  in  stocks?" 

"Break!  Why,  you  are  dreaming.  Stocks 
are  booming." 

"  Oh,  no.  Sam  has  just  lost  in  them  the 
hundred  thousand  dollars  he  promised  me  for 
my  birthday." 

"Is  it  possible?  I  was  not  aware  —  oh, 
yes,  to  be  sure." 

His  wits  seemed  to  be  straying;  but  I 
suppose  he  was  lost  in  admiration  of  my  ex- 
quisite dress — gold-colored  satin  and  cloth-of- 
gold,  embroidered  with  seed-pearls.  Or  was  he 
thinking  about  her? 


0er0nfc  QTar&  tains."        265 


"How  would  her  husband  have  felt  if  she 
had  found  him?"  I  asked. 

"  How  can  I  more  than  another  answer  that 
question?"  said  he.  "  Ask  Sam." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  him,"  I  said. 

"  For  —  whom?"  he  asked. 

"  For  her  husband,"  I  answered.  "  He  has 
lost  a  good  wife." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  musing,  "  I  once  thought 
she  had  a  soul.  But  only  a  few  souls  are  made. 
Half  the  world  have  none.  I  'm  afraid  she  was 
like  the  most  of  us,  mere  painted  slides  on  the 
lantern  of  Life.  But  suppose  —  we  will  say 
suppose  —  she  had  found  him  married  again?" 

"But,"  said  I,  losing  patience,  "  she  didn't 
even  find  him." 

"Oh,  no,"  he  replied,  quickly;  "I  didn't 
say  she  did." 

He  had  been  idly  playing  with  my  Indian 
fan,  and  now  suddenly  asked  if  I  did  not  think 
the  figure  in  the  picture  less  plain  than  of 
yore.  "  The  old  juggler  really  could  foretell 
then,"  he  muttered. 

But  I  wanted  to  solve  the  mystery,  and 
began  by  asking,  "Why  don't  you  marry?" 

He  smiled.  "  Shall  I  say  I  am  the  victim  of 
the  cruel  laws  of  being,  or  of  chance  ?  I  only 
wait  at  a  banquet  where  I  inhale  the  odor  of 


266        "Slje  Seconir  Carb 


other  men's  cake,  and  hear  the  plash  of  others' 
wine." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  asked. 

"  That  married  women  please  me  most,"  he 
said. 

Of  course,  I  knew  it  all  the  time,  but  was 
surprised  that  he  owned  it  to  me. 

"But  lately,"  he  went  on,  "my  wonted 
pose  of  looker-on  has  been  disturbed.  I  have 
just  been  a  heavy  loser  by  getting  too 
absorbed  in  another  man's  game." 

"What  was  it?     Faro?" 

"  No  —  yes  —  yes,  it  was  a  very  good  game 
of  faro.  Do  you  know  what  that  is?" 

"No.     How  is  it  played?" 

"It  is  all  chance,"  he  replied;  "the  first 
card  loses,  and  the  second  card  wins." 

He  bowed  and  loitered  off  through  the 
whirling,  jostling  throng.  I  was  glad  to  lose 
sight  of  his  cynical  smile  and  sound  of  his 
affected  drawl.  It  was  two  or  three  hours 
later,  just  twelve  o'clock,  when,  tired  of 
dancing,  I  sat  listening  to  the  "  Oginski,"  and 
waiting  for  Sam,  who  stood  not  far  off,  telling 
some  one  the  love-lorn  legend  of  the  music. 
After  the  last  bar,  I  heard  his  words:  "  Here 
the  Polish  lover,  mad  with  despair,  went 
from  the  ballroom  out  into  the  night  and  shot 
himself." 


Seconfr  QTarfc  toine."        267 


A  chilly  wind  swept  round  me,  a  gust  that 
tore  my  fan  out  of  my  tight-gloved  left  hand, 
which  was  trying  to  also  hold  bouquet  and 
handkerchief,  while  I  beckoned  Sam  to  come. 

"  They  must  have  opened  a  window  some- 
where/' I  told  him.  "  Do  have  it  closed." 

"  I  feel  the  wind,  too,  now  I  come  here,"  he 
said,  picking  up  my  fan,  and  going  to  see  about 
it,  but  he  came  back  without  finding  any 
reason  for  the  blast.  "  I  feel  it  only  here,"  he 
said;  but  we  went  to  our  rooms.  As  we  left 
the  elevator,  a  rush  of  cold  air  again  chilled  us 
to  the  marrow.  I  shivered,  and  trying  to  draw 
my  cloak  more  closely  round  me,  the  fan 
slipped  out  of  my  hand  as  if  some  one  had 
snatched  it,  and  in  some  odd  chance  was 
thrown  over  the  banisters  as  we  passed  the 
stairs,  and  falling  many  feet  on  the  marble 
pavement,  was  wholly  shattered.  I  could  have 
cried,  I  was  so  vexed  to  lose  it.  I  wished  I 
had  taken  the  cherry-stone  bracelet. 

"  The  house  seems  full  of  draughts  to-night," 
said  Sam,  as  he  locked  our  door. 

Shivering,  too,  I  answered,  "  I  wonder  how 
far  Mrs.  Capel  has  got  on  her  journey." 

"  She  can't  be  colder  in  the  cars  than  we 
are  here,"  said  Sam,  poking  the  fire,  which  we 
always  have  at  night  ;  but  all  at  once  it  seemed 
to  have  been  needless,  for  we  had  to  open  the 


268        "®i)e  Kecorib  OTarb  toins." 

windows.  Sam  tried  to  comfort  me  for  the  loss 
of  the  fan ;  but  he  was  in  a  very  jolly  mood, 
and  kept  pirouetting  all  through  the  rooms. 
"By  Jove!"  he  cried,  "  this  is  a  world  worth 
living  in,  isn't  it?  Oh,  Minnie!  you  looked 
as  sweet  as  a  peach  to-night.  I  'm  so  proud  of 
you !  I  'm  very  sorry  about  your  fan." 

"  Oh,  I  am!"  said  I.  "There  is  nothing  like 
it  in  this  country." 

"Not  only  that,"  he  said,  "but  I  hate  to 
have  Mark  know  it  is  ruined.  But  I  'm  so 
happy  to-night  I  can't  grieve  so  much.  Come 
and  kiss  me,  Minnie." 

Dear  Sam !  There  never  was  a  more  fond 
and  faithful  husband.  How  I  pity  wives  with 
husbands  who  can  be  false ! 

II.  — PASSAGE    FROM    THE    DIARY    OF 
MRS.  CAPEL. 

Thursday  morning.  — My  nerves  have  been 
so  shaken  by  the  ordeal  I  have  passed  that  I 
could  not  rest  well  last  night.  As  I  lay  in  my 
berth  the  very  motion  of  the  train  seemed  to 
throb  against  my  brain.  "You  are  not  the 
same  poor  creature  who  passed  over  this  very 
road  a  week  ago — not  the  same — not  the 
same!"  I  could  not  keep  from  thinking  of 
poor  old  Mark.  How  true  he  had  been !  But 


Qetonb  Carb  toins."        269 


what  folly  it  would  have  been  to  trust  any 
man  again!  I  drew  my  watch  from  under  my 
head,  made  out  to  see  that  the  hands.  were  on 
twelve,  and  then  dropped  to  sleep  as  to  a  series 
of  strange  visions.  Out  of  blank  darkness 
suddenly  shapes  itself  before  me  that  fan  from 
India,  which  will  confront  me.  I  can  not  turn 
so  that  it  does  not  follow,  until  I  see  and  cry 
out:  "  Why  —  the  figure  has  gone  from  the 
picture!"  Then  it  all  vanishes.  Now  1  see 
the  beach  near  the  Cliff  House.  There  is  a 
full  moon,  and  Mark  paces  there  alone,  though 
a  high  wind  is  blowing.  But  such  a  weight  is 
on  my  soul  that  I  groan  myself  awake.  (Could 
he  have  been  there,  I  wonder?  Was  his  mind, 
looking  out  on  the  moonlit  sea  and  lovely 
sands,  reflected  in  mine,  and  vividly  defined 
against  the  chiaroscuro  of  dreamland  ?)  Then 
I  am  in  a  ballroom,  the  band  playing  the  wildly 
sad  "  Oginski,"  full  of  deep-drawn  sighs  and 
longing.  I  am  conscious  of  a  swarm  of 
dancers,  yet  seem  to  be  only  sure  of  Samuel 
and  my  lovely  friend  who  sits  near  him,  look- 
ing very  beautiful,  and  takes  no  notice  of 
Mark,  who  comes  up  with  some  queer  dis- 
figurement of  his  face,  and  behaves  very 
strangely,  snatching  her  fan  out  of  her  hand 
and  flinging  it  on  the  floor.  (Probably  I 


270        "(Erje  Second  <Ear&  toins." 

dreamed  this  because  I  knew  he  disliked  to 
see  her  have  it.)  She  pays  no  heed  to  him, 
but  shivers.  Samuel  gets  her  fan,  and  soon 
they  all  three  leave  the  hall,  she  and  "Clare" 
acting  as  if  chilly.  Mark  again  tears  the  fan 
from  her,  and  dashes  it  down  as  if  from  some 
great  height.  Dream-like,  she  does  not  notice 
him,  though  grieved  to  lose  her  fan,  which,  I 
see,  is  shivered  to  bits.  Then  I  lose  sight  of 
all  of  them  —  I  hang  across  the  firm  but  un- 
seen arm  of  some  shadowy  presence  that  bears 
me  away  with  it.  I  hear  no  voice,  but  feel 
borne  in  upon  me  these  words:  "Beyond 
even  the  possibilities  of  Money!"  I  float  in 
mid-air,  though  it  does  not  seem  so  much  that 
I  move  higher  and  higher,  as  that  my  old  sur- 
roundings drop  away — is  tkati\\e  city  with  its 
net  of  lights  far  below?  and  that  vast  silver 
shield  must  be  the  ocean  !  Clouds  bar  off  that 
view.  I  am  chilled  and  breathless.  How  daz- 
zling the  stars  grow !  Is  that  dim  speck  our 
world — down  there  by  the  moon?  Is  this — 
I  feel  the  unseen  arm  loose  its  hold,  and  the 
vapor  that  seems  like  a  presence  shoots  far 
above,  as  if  torn  from  me.  I  am  falling,  fall- 
ing through  endless  depths.  I  awoke  with  a 
convulsive  start,  to  find  myself  in  the  swinging 
train,  with  the  crazy  beat  upon  my  brain. 
"  Not  the  same !  Oh,  not  the  same !  " 


Seronb  (tarb  toine."        271 


III.— PARAGRAPH    FROM    SAN    FRANCISCO 
PAPERS  OF  THURSDAY  EVENING. 

Last  night,  Mark  Dillon  left  the  hop  at  the 

Hotel,  and  with  a  party  of   gentlemen 

drove  to  the  Cliff  House.  Leaving  them  at 
supper,  he  went  out  on  the  beach  at  midnight, 
and  shot  himself  in  the  temple.  No  cause  for 
the  suicide  is  known.  He  was  a  man  of  refine- 
ment and  culture,  but  had  spent  most  of  his 
fortune  in  foreign  travel.  He  was  well  known 
in  society  as  musician  and  poet,  and  in  his 
pocket  were  found  these  lines  (dated  yester- 
day): 

A  LOST  HOPE. 
Oft  when  the  sun  has  set 
A  wondrous  afterglow  will  linger  yet ; 
Through  darkening  dome  the  trailing  gorgeous  hues 

Unite,  dissolve,  slow  change  to  shadows  gray— 
As  echoes  of  some  haunting  tune  perplex, 
That  come  and  go  and  vex, 
And  all  the  idler's  hollow  thought  confuse 
With  occult  sway. 

When  a  great  hope  has  set 
Long  must  its  halo  stir  a  deep  regret, 
Illuminating  oft  the  gloomy  thought 

With  rays  from  sunken  argosy. 
The  floating  cloud  of  foiled  sweet  fancies  nued 

By  it,  are  viewed 

With  aching  heart  and  soul  that,  half-distraught,, 
Yearn— oh,  how  helplessly! 


IN  SILVER  UPON  PURPLE:  "STAR- 
CROSS'D  LOVERS." 


I 


IN  SILVER  UPON  PURPLE:  "STAR- 
CROSS'D  LOVERS." 


Pastel. 


"  From  no    human  equation  can   you  eliminate  that  unknown 
factor,  the  most  mysterious  of  all,  the  unexpected." 


Midsummer  and  midnight  in  an  Italian  city  in 
the  sixteenth  century.  The  narrow,  crooked 
streets  are  dim  and  quiet.  The  purple  dark 
above  is  strewn  with  worlds  like  silver  sands, 
yet  so  solemn  and  mysterious  one  feels  that 
they  may  form  cabalistic  characters,  and 
dreads  some  consequence  yet  hanging  in  the 
stars. 

A  nobleman  passes  along  the  lonely  streets 
toward  the  cemetery,  followed  by  his  page, 
who  bears  a  torch  and  a  basket  of  flowers. 
The  torchlight  casts  glints  upon  the  heavy 
gold  embroidery  of  a  sinister  heraldic  flower 
which  wreathes  the  young  gentleman's  white 
cloak,  and  lets  the  white  satin  puffing  in  his 
slashed  sleeves  gleam,  the  gems  set  in  the  hilt 
of  his  rapier  flash.  The  frosty  plumes  in  his 

275 


276  In  Siber  Upon  JJurple. 

hat  nod  above  a  refined,  proud  face.  Many 
women  have  sighed,  have  wept,  because  he 
passed  them  without  a  glance.  The  stately 
elegance  of  the  man  himself  is  far  more  than 
his  adornments.  What  could  thwart  the  will 
of  such  a  fine,  majestic  being  ? 

Those  shifting,  silver  sands,  that  dust  of 
worlds,  athwart  the  purple  dark  long-blown 
and  blowing  far ! 

"  These  milky  blossoms,"  he  muses,  "are 
not  white  enough  to  match  the  purity  of  that 
fair  girl  who  was  to  have  been  my  wife.  I 
ought  to  thank  Heaven  that  I  lose  her  only 
as  the  bride  of  Death.  I  could  never  have 
yielded  her  to  any  other  bridegroom.  My 
Beautiful!  My  Own!" 

He  will  never  know  that  she  loved,  even 
married,  another.  He  moves  haughtily  to- 
ward that  unforeseen  but  immediate,  sudden 
fray  in  which  he  is  to  be  killed. 

Athwart  the  purple  dark,  long-blown  and 
blowing  far,  those  shifting  silver  sands,  that 
dust  of  worlds ! 

The  page  tries  to  stride  like  his  master,  and 
longs  to  be  the  grown  man  who  can  do  as  he 
likes.  The  shadows  leap  from  them,  point  at 
them,  draw  grotesque  likenesses  of  them, 
crowd  back  and  follow.  Here  is  a  lofty  win- 


Jn  Siber  Hpon  JJnrple.  277 

dow,  over  which  a  fantastic  gargoyle,  half- 
demon,  half-dragon,  is  lolling  out  its  tongue, 
as  if  in  derision,  but  a  shadow  closes  its 
mouth,  even  cowls  its  head,  and  leaves  its 
sharp  claws,  holding  an  open  book,  its  coiled 
tail,  by  which  it  hangs  from  the  roof,  without 
meaning.  Below,  in  the  open  window,  a  girl 
of  scarlet  lips  and  bright  eyes  is  leaning  out 
into  the  summer  night.  Many  men,  with  their 
hungry  hearts  in  their  eyes,  have  followed 
her  to  and  from  mass.  What  shall  assail  with 
stifling  torment  a  creature  of  such  grace  and 
charm  ? 

Long-blown  and  blowing  far,  that  dust  of 
worlds,  athwart  the  purple  dark  those  shifting 
silver  sands ! 

She  sees  the  picturesque  passing  of  knight 
and  page.  She  knows  their  mission.  She 
does  not  regret  the  death ;  her  own  lover  was 
too  much  taken  by  that  girl  at  the  late 
masque.  "  I  have  been  wrong  not  to  let  him 
know  how  his  wooing  has  thrilled  me,"  she 
thinks.  "When  he  serenaded  me  the  night 
before,  I  neither  lighted  my  window  nor  flung 
down  a  flower.  I  will  make  amends  now  for 
my  long  neglect  of  him.  I  will  embroider  that 
old  love-song  he  sang  for  the  border  of  the 
cloak  he  shall  wear  at  our  wedding.  It  stiall 


278          Jn  Qiluer  &pon  Jtarple. 

be  of  sky-blue  velvet,  the  border  of  satin, 
the  five  lines,  the  stems  of  the  notes,  the  bars 
in  silver,  the  notes  of  seed-pearls.  With  ropes 
of  pearls  and  white  plumes  on  his  hat,  how 
handsome  he  will  look!  His  beauty  is  a 
melody,  a  harmony  for  the  eye  beyond  any 
the  ear  ever  heard !  And  its  theme  is  Love ! " 

The  purple  dark,  that  shifting  dust  of 
worlds,  those  silver  sands  long-blown  and 
blowing  far  athwart ! 

The  serene  night  is  too  pitiful  to  let  her  feel 
any  foreboding  of  ill,  of  news  that  dawn  will 
bring  of  a  triple  tragedy  to-night  in  the  ceme- 
tery, any  hint  of  the  secret  which  will  be  such 
distress  to  her  to  know — that  her  lover  has 
already  married  the  girl  whose  beauty  be- 
witched him  at  the  masque. 

An  old  nurse  who  has  come  from  a  palace  in 
mourning,  and  whose  black  figure,  thrown  up 
by  the  circling  rays  of  torchlight,  is  a  blot  on 
the  paler  darkness  behind  her,  sees  by  the 
dancing  flare  the  beatified  girl  in  the  window 
and  the  passing  beneath  of  the  jaunty,  dis- 
dainful cavalier  and  his  strutting,  envious 
page.  The  lovely  girl,  with  pink  roses  in  dark 
curls  shadowing  her  high  forehead,  wears  deep 
rose-velvet,  heavily  embroidered  with  crystal 
beads,  the  bodice  a  glittering  mass  of  them, 


In  Siloer  Hpon  purple.  279 

like  a  vision,  all  for  an  instant,  of  tears  she  is 
soon  to  shed.  The  old  woman  has  a  vivid 
glimpse  of  her  against  a  background  of  gold- 
colored  tapestry.  The  gargoyle  grins,  its 
mouth  gapes  into  mock  laughter,  then  appears 
to  hastily  shut,  as  grim  shadows  close  around 
the  dreaming  girl  and  pursue  the  departing 
cavalier. 

"Now,  afore  Heaven!  why  couldn't  they 
fall  in  love  with  one  another?"  the  nurse 
mumbles.  "  Just  as  young  and  handsome  as 
the  others,  and  with  the  chinks !  Yet  these 
must  go  down  through  the  ages,  as  they  say, 
forever  famous  as  the  jilted  ones!  Nobody 
will  be  concerned  about  what  they  may  have 
suffered.  A  dainty  beauty,  a  brave  gallant — 
they  deserve  a  better  fate.  Poor  County 
Paris!  Poor  Rosaline!" 

That  dust  of  worlds,  those  shifting,  silver 
sands  long-blown  and  blowing  far  athwart  the 
purple  dark ! 


'ARE  THE  DEAD  DEAD?" 


; 

"ARE  THE  DEAD  DEAD?" 


Who  shall  determine  the  power  of  sympathy,  or  assign  to  that 
power  its  limit? 


My  story  is  so  strange  that  I  cannot  expect 
many  to  believe  it.  Only  a  short  time  ago 
I  myself  would  have  scoffed  at  such  a  tale.  I 
would  not  tell  it,  but  for  the  faint  hope  that  it 
may  lead  others — if  such  there  be — to  own  to 
any  like  experience ;  for  I  cannot  think  that  I 
alone,  of  all  the  world,  have  had  such  glimpse 
of  the  mysterious  outlying  region  usually 
veiled  from  mortals.  Whoever  you  are,  now 
about  to  read  what  comes,  I  implore  you  com- 
fort me,  if  you  can,  by  writing:  "  I,  too,  have 
heard  and  seen!"  Come  forward  and  share 
my  burden  before  I  lose  my  mind. 

Marvel  not  that  I  grant  the  request  of  the 
club  which  asked  for  this  statement.  Since 
that  awful  experience  I  feel  lifted  above  the 
paltry  secret-keeping  of  this  world.  I  own 
our  spiritual  kinship.  On  the  Day  of  Judg- 
ment all  will  be  known ;  why  should  I  hesitate 
to  give  now  a  brief  account  of  what,  after  all, 
283 


284  "&re  tlje 


might  have  happened  to  any  one  ?  For  we  are 
all  tangled  in  strange  meshes  of  circumstance. 

But  it  must  be  seldom  that  one  is  allowed  to 
see  how  one's  thoughts  or  acts  here  may,  long 
after  one  is  gone,  affect  people  one  may  not 
have  known  ;  to  see  how,  before  unguessed, 
life  might  have  been  different;  to  find  that 
one's  passions  last  as  strong  as  in  life,  or 
stronger.  But  are  they  not  one's  self  !  With- 
out them  we  might  as  well  be  lost  in  the 
Universal  Spirit  of  the  Brahmins. 

That  no  one  has  seen  and  heard  such  proof 
of  this  until  now  weighs  nothing  against  it. 
Sir  John  Herschel  has  said,  that  of  all  the 
fusions  that  might  be  of  the  fifty  or  sixty  ele- 
ments which  chemistry  shows  there  are  on  the 
earth,  it  is  likely  —  nay,  almost  sure  —  that  some 
have  not  been  made.  Those  who  cannot  un- 
derstand my  story  should  remember  that  to 
the  blind  the  touch  of  ice  or  fire  is  the  same. 
Those  who  doubt  this  tale  are  like  the  Indian 
prince  told  of  by  Hume,  who  would  not  think 
thare  could  be  ice. 

1  have  another  reason  for  writing  this;  I 
owe  it  to  the  club  upon  which  I  rather  forced 
myself  to  tell  the  cause  of  my  abject  terror 
when  they  saw  nothing.  I  know  some  of 
them  thought  I  was  crazed;  they  will  feel 


ttje  EJeafc  Eleabr'  285 


sure  of  it,  perhaps,  when  I  say  that,  so  far 
as  human  judgment  could  go,  it  seemed  to  me 
at  first  that  my  joining  them  sprang  from  the 
wealth  of  bloom  this  year  on  the  great  helio- 
trope under  my  parlor-window,  and  from  a 
chance  call  ;  but  now  these  seem  but  links  in 
a  chain,  running  into  past  and  future  beyond 
our  ken. 

I  filled  a  vase  on  my  piano  with  the  flowers, 
whose  strong,  sweet,  wine-like  odor  led  me  to 
rhymes.  Then  I  played  and  sang  till,  through 
the  dreamful  scent  and  the  charm  of  music,  I 
was  rapt  in  clouds  far  above  the  world,  and  so 
little  pleased  to  have  a  caller  that  I  paid  slight 
heed  to  him  ;  and,  on  the  plea  of  playing  for 
him,  did  some  hard  practice,  till,  with  aching 
arms,  I  turned  round  to  find  he  had  caught  up 
the  leaf  of  note-paper  I  had  written  on,  and 
was  placing  his  eyeglass  to  see  what  it  was. 
With  some  notion  that  it  was  a  joke  to  do  so, 
he  read  aloud  my 

RONDEL. 

Strange  depth  of  passion  freights  the  heavy  scent 
Of  heliotrope  ;  there  breathes  a  discontent 

From  pallid  purple  upon  snow  upthrown, 
Like  haze  of  hills  afar  with  white  cloud  blent; 

All  vague  regret  and  mad  desire  seem  loan 
From  odor  blown. 


286  "&re  ttje  JDecrtr 


Sweet  things  that  never  were  pervade  my  thought, 
As  when  sad  music  sounds,  with  yearning  fraught, 

That  makes  the  present  pass  behind  two  tears, 
All  that  the  future  may  unfold  seem  naught. 

Some  past  unknown  was  blest.    Too  quickly  veers 
The  lapse  of  years. 

1  cannot  read  nor  sing—  I  only  sigh. 

A  haunting  presence  in  my  room  is  nigh  ; 

I  suffocate  with  a  delicious  dole. 
What  spirit  stronger  than  my  own  is  by? 

Is  this  fierce  will,  that  can  my  mind  control, 
The  flower's  soul? 

"Humph!"  said  he.  "You  ought  to  join 
the  Ghost  Club." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  1  asked.  "1  had 
not  heard  of  one." 

"  Well,  it  is  kept  quiet,"  he  said  ;  "but  it  is 
a  small  club,  whose  members  go  to  houses  said 
to  be  haunted,  to  see  what  truth  there  may  be 
in  the  tales.  You  know  that  one  out  on 
Valencia  street,  near  Fifteenth?  They  have 
spent  some  time  there  ;  and  in  the  large  house 
here  in  town,  on  Sutter  street,  which  was 
vacant  so  long,  and  at  last  taken,  with  its  fine 
grounds,  for  a  beer-garden." 

"What  happened?"  I  asked.  "Was  any 
one  frightened  into  a  fit?" 

"No,"  said  he;  "they  have  seen  nothing 


"Sir*  tlje  8)*ai>  Eeabr'  287 

yet.  But  if  you  watch  to-morrow  night,  you 
will  see  them  marching  up  here  to  the  house 
over  the  way." 

I  began  to  be  interested.  "  That  house!" 
I  said.  "I  did  not  know  anything  was  the 
matter  with  it.  But  I  know  it  has  long  been 
to  let."  I  did  not  tell  him  what  a  part  of  my 
reveries  it  had  been  —  not  only  for  its  pictur- 
esque look,  but  because  of  the  music  I  had 
once  heard  from  its  windows. 

"It  is  not  easy  to  let,"  he  went  on,  "be- 
cause the  first  owner  poisoned  himself  there. 
Why  don't  you  join  the  club  ?  You  are  fan- 
ciful enough.  I  can  give  you  letters  to  the 
chief  members." 

"I  might — for  fun,"  I  said;  "I  have  no 
faith." 

"Neither  have  they;  they  call  it  a  quest 
for  truth." 

I  let  him  write  the  letters — two  to  women, 
one  to  a  man — three  out  of  the  seven  who 
formed  the  club.  The  last  thing  that  night  I 
paused  by  my  window  to  look  over  at  the 
house — square,  high,  dark,  outlined  against 
the  stars,  far  above  the  street,  which  was  cut 
through  the  hill  at  some  date  since  the  build- 
ing of  the  house,  which  stands  near  the  head 
of  about  a  hundred  zigzag  steps,  with  landings 


288  "<3lr*  ti)e 


here  and  there  at  the  turns,  the  first  flight 
boarded  from  the  street,  and  looking  like  a 
switch-tender's  hut  on  a  railroad. 

Behind  an  uncared-for  garden  of  dusty  ever- 
greens, and  half-hidden  in  yellow  and  white 
jasmine,  the  lonely  house,  with  its  closed  win- 
dows, made  me  think  of  a  giant  with  shut 
eyes  lying  in  a  garden  under  a  spell.  Did  it 
ever  dream?  Sometimes  I  half  -believed  in 
flitting  lights  and  changeful  shadows  behind 
one  shutterless  window  upstairs,  but  thought 
it  must  be  the  reflection  of  the  headlight  of  a 
passing  street-car  dummy. 

That  house  had  long  been  like  a  conscious 
comrade  in  my  day-dreams.  It  was  linked  in 
my  mind  with  an  offer  of  marriage  I  once  had 
from  one  for  whom  I  cared  very  little,  but 
whom  circumstances  nearly  brought  me  to 
accept.  But  through  the  open  windows  came 
such  a  strain  of  warning  music  that,  creatures 
of  chance  impulses  that  we  are,  swayed  by  a 
look  or  a  tone,  my  mind  changed  in  spite  of 
me.  I  was  lifted  out  of  my  usual  self,  and 
had  strength  to  do  right.  I  never  knew  any- 
thing of  the  unseen  singer  but  his  love  for 
his  art  as  shown  by  daily  study  which  I 
heard.  That  "  sound  which  was  a  soul" 
surely  saved  me  from  making  my  life  a  mere 


JDeafr  SDeafc?"  289 


hard,  rude  outline,  from  losing  all  the  pic- 
turesque effects  of  light  and  shade  which 
romance,  hope,  and  feeling  give.  But  it  was 
strangely  done,  by  making  the  man  at  my  feet 
so  suddenly  hateful  to  me. 

I  could  not  help  wishing  to  join  the  Ghost 
Club,  though  I  thought  our  pains  would  be 
vain.  I  felt  a  strange  interest  in  the  plan.  It 
made  me  restless  that  night.  While  dressing 
in  the  morning,  I  looked  up  again  at  the 
lonesome-looking  house,  and,  nodding  gayly 
toward  it,  cried  :  "  You  have  haunted  me/" 

No  one  could  have  felt  lighter-hearted  and 
more  free  from  dread  than  I,  as  during  the  day 
I  presented  my  letters,  and  gained  consent  to 
my  joining  the  club  "for  that  one  house.  " 
Heaven  knows  I  have  now  no  wish  to  thus 
visit  another  ! 

When  the  club  gathered  that  night  at  the 
doorway  to  the  steps  over  the  way,  I  joined 
them.  A  queer  group.  A  believer,  a  doubter, 
an  inquirer,  a  strict  church  member,  and 
others  who  came,  as  I  did,  for  pastime.  Some 
were  late,  and  had  not  yet  come  when  we 
wound  up  the  long  stairs,  and  waited  at  the 
door  for  some  one  who  was  to  bring  the  key. 

"  Nothing  is  too  strange  to  happen/'  said 
the  inquirer,  who,  with  his  wife,  seemed 


tlje 


gravely  exploring  a  strange  region.  "  There 
is  nothing  which  may  not  be  in  the  wide  mar- 
gin of  the  unknown  around  all  we  know." 

"The  Bible  tells  us,"  said  the  pious  man, 
"  '  There  is  a  universe  to  us  invisible,  but  not, 
therefore,  unreal."' 

"But  I  cannot  think,"  said  the  doubter, 
"that  those  who  have  gone  there  think  of  us; 
for  '  Death  remembers  to  forget.'  " 

"Yet  Isaac  Taylor  thought,"  said  the  be- 
liever, "the  human  and  extra-human  crowd 
might  be  within  any  given  bounds;  but  as  they 
are  commonly  unseen  and  unheard  by  us,  so 
we  may  be  the  same  to  them." 

"  Like  the  voices  the  Talmud  tells  of,"  said 
a  Jewess,  laden  with  flesh  and  lace  and  dia- 
monds, "the  sounds  which  pass  through  the 
world,  and  are  not  heard  by  any  creatures 
in  it." 

He  nodded,  and  went  on:  "Jung  Stilling 
and  Oberlin  also  held,  we  can  be  only  ghosts 
to  them,  as  they  to  us." 

"  No  one  ever  saw  a  ghost  not  made  by  his 
fancy,"  said  the  doubter  —  a  Jew.  "It  is 
always  like  that  German  tale  of  a  student 
who  fought  a  duel  with  a  spectre,  who,  when 
he  dropped  the  cloak  from  his  face,  was  seen 
to  be  himself!" 


ilje  JDeair  flDeab?"  291 


"That  is  why  the  club  was  formed,"  said 
the  believer;  "doctors  own  that  more  than 
one  may  have  an  illusion,  but  say  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  delusion  for  a  group  of 
people." 

The  pious  man  patted  my  Spitz  dog.  "  He 
may  see  more  than  we  can,"  said  he,  "as 
Balaam's  ass  saw  the  angel." 

"Yes,"  said  the  joker,  "to  *  speak  by  the 
card,'  when  we  are  within  an  ace  of  meeting 
hobgoblins,  and  the  deuce  is  to  pay,  Tray  will 
knock  spots  out  of  them." 

As  we  went  into  the  house,  I  found  in  the 
man  who  had  the  key  an  old  neighbor. 

"Why,  Mr.  H  --  !"  I  cried. 

He  started  nervously,  and  looked  around  in 
great  surprise.  "Miss  W  -  !"  said  he, 
"are  you  here?  —  with  those  asking  eyes  of 
yours?  " 

"Oh,  I  don't  believe  in  it,"  I  laughed;  "I 
am  only  curious,  like  the  rest." 

Not  so  much  then  as  since,  I  have  thought 
of  his  strange  look  at  me,  and  the  shrug  of  his 
shoulders,  which  seemed  to  lift  me  off  his 
mind,  for  he  paid  no  more  heed  to  me  that 
night. 

The  others  glanced  here  and  there  through 
the  open  doors,  with  an  eager  air,  in  marked 


292  "<&re  il)*  SDeair 


contrast  with  Mr.  H  -  's  studied  unconcern. 
They  noticed  his  manner,  and  spoke  of  it. 

"I  never  look  about  me  in  this  house,"  he 
said,  gravely,  "or  in  any  of  these  old  places," 
he  added,  and  hurried  off. 

The  inquirer  plunged  down  the  steps,  caught 
him  on  the  first  landing,  and  cried:  "Why? 
Why  not?" 

Mr.  H  -  hesitated.  "Well—  you  might 
look  for  the  ghosts  of  the  restless,  roving  folks 
who  wandered  to  California,"  he  answered, 
and  ran  down. 

As  we  stood  in  the  hall,  the  believer  made 
us  a  speech  about  being  in  a  fit  state,  and 
urged  that  we  should  be  placed  in  rooms  by 
ourselves,  or  no  more  than  two  together. 
Though,  after  some  wrangling,  we  were 
allowed  a  light  in  each  room,  we  were  to  sit 
idle  and  not  speak.  I  was  left  in  a  small 
room,  with  a  window  on  the  street.  The 
others  went  where  he  told  them.  The  silence 
which  soon  reigned  made  it  seem  as  if  there 
was  no  one  in  the  house.  Fearless  as  I  had 
always  boasted  of  being,  a  strange  dread  at 
last  settled  on  me.  I  could  not  lose  that  feel- 
ing as  of  some  one  just  at  the  door,  which  we 
know  in  vacant  furnished  houses.  I  tried  to 
forget  why  we  came.  I  counted,  each  way, 


tlje  ftteab  SDeafc?"  293 


the  figures  in  carpet  and  curtains.  I  noticed 
all  in  the  room,  the  common  and  uncommon, 
from  chairs,  table,  and  sofa  to  a  veiled  picture 
and  an  old-fashioned  secretary,  whose  torn 
green  silk  behind  the  glass  doors  showed  some 
stray  leaves  of  manuscript. 

I  wondered  in  which  room  the  old  owner 
took  poison.  Supposing  it  to  be  true,  as  some 
have  thought,  that  suicide  chains  the  spirit  to 
earth,  why  should  we  know  it?  What  right 
had  we  to  pry  into  the  unknown  ?  I  shrank 
from  the  test,  and  was  seized  with  nervous 
trembling.  Even  my  dog  grew  restless,  and 
ran  home  just  as,  much  to  my  relief,  a  late- 
comer entered  the  house. 

He  came  in  the  room  where  I  was  —  a  shy, 
quiet  young  man,  who  went  toward  the  win- 
dow, but,  suddenly  seeing  me,  started,  stared, 
and  dropped  into  a  seat.  It  struck  me  some 
way  that  he  was  in  awe  of  me.  I  was  half- 
amused  to  think  he  might  be  taking  a  stranger 
for  a  ghost. 

Long  we  sat  amid  the  shadows,  silent  and 
strange,  as  if  both  by  some  spell  called  up 
from  the  shades  by  the  club.  The  oil-lamp 
burned  dimly.  I  faintly  saw  my  companion's 
glowing  eyes,  and  fine  profile,  like  that  on 
antique  vase  or  coin,  and  the  small  spray  of 


294  "3tw  tlje  Eteair 


the  breath-of-heaven's  snowflake  flowers  that, 
with  a  blood-red  pink,  he  wore  as  a  button- 
hole bouquet. 

The  floor  cracked  like  a  goblin  telegraph. 
The  banisters  creaked  as  if  people  were 
going  up  and  down  the  stairs.  The  wind 
in  sudden  gusts  rattled  the  tin  roof  till  it 
seemed  like  the  tramp  of  an  army.  But  I 
heard  with  my  mind's  ear  once  more  the 
passionate  love-songs  and  snatches  from  operas 
which  had  of  old  so  charmed  me  from  this 
very  window. 

I  could  not  keep  my  eyes  off  this  man. 
Dazed,  I  looked  at  him.  Where  had  I  known 
him?  I  seemed  flooded  by  a  tidal  wave 
of  memories  —  of  what?  —  bits  of  dreams?  — 
sleeping  or  waking  ones?  Was  it  a  tide  of 
inherited  memories  surging  through  my  veins 
with  the  hot  blood  of  some  ancestress  who 
had,  like  me  now,  loved  at  first  sight  one  like 
him,  this  man  of  graceful  movement  and  head 
like  an  antique  bust?  Who  could  tell?  I 
gazed  at  him,  mad  with  vague,  keen  longing 
and  remembrance,  excited  as  with  wine  by 
the  new  and  piquant  charm  of  feeling  the 
overwhelming  power  of  his  presence,  yet  see- 
ing him  wholly  unaware  of  it,  and  even  shy. 
I  was  under  a  spell  subtle  as  the  scent  of  the 


JDeafc  JDeafc?"  295 


blossoms  which  nestled  where  1  longed  to  lay 
my  head,  upon  his  breast. 

When  the  hours  of  our  fruitless  waiting  had 
passed,  and  we  all  stumbled  down  the  wind- 
ing, grass-grown  steps,  from  starlight  through 
shadow  into  the  gas-lit  street,  I  was  dizzy  with 
the  intoxication  of  his  glances,  and  lay  awake 
the  rest  of  the  night.  Who  was  he  ?  One  of 
this  crazy  club.  I  wanted  nothing  to  do  with 
them.  I  resolved  not  to  join  them  again.  But 
just  as  I  had  waked  all  night,  I  dreamed  all 
day.  This,  then,  was  love,  to  look  into  eyes 
of  such  dazzling  enchantment  that  all  else 
became  dull.  I  could  do  nothing  but  think  of 
him.  I  envied  the  girls  in  the  "Arabian 
Nights,"  who  could  always  send  an  old 
woman  to  tell  a  young  man  he  was  loved, 
and  bring  him.  I  longed  for  the  freedom  of 
the  birds  of  the  air,  who  are  not  held  in  check 
by  the  straight-jacket  of  custom  which  keeps  us 
from  blows  or  kisses  at  first  sight.  As  the  day 
wore  on,  1  could  not  keep  from  going  up  there 
to  look  about  in  the  light.  The  key  had  been 
left  with  me.  I  took  it,  but  hardly  meant  to 
use  it.  I  thought  I  would  walk  in  the  garden. 
The  still,  old  place  had  an  odd  charm  for  me. 
San  Francisco  was  gone;  its  hum  sounded 
faint,  like  a  distant  sea  ;  it  seemed  far  off,  as 


296  "&r*  tl)*  Wecti 


if  one  of  the  vanished  Five  Cities  of  the  Plain, 
to  me  on  this  hilltop,  alone,  with  the  fierce 
wind  and  dazzling  sky,  better  comrades  and 
more  akin  than  the  breathless,  thronged 
streets  and  crowding  buildings.  The  clouds 
floated  near.  The  garden  shrubs  whispered 
their  secrets.  It  was  so  solitary  that,  though 
the  sunshine  was  over  all,  and  an  army  of 
wall-flowers  formed  their  torch-lit  ranks  round 
the  door,  there  seemed  to  be  no  relief  from 
a  weight  of  loneliness.  It  seemed  almost 
remote  enough  for  Death  to  overlook.  Was  it 
haunted?  The  house  looked  at  me  with  its 
pleasant  windows,  and  lured  me  to  go  in.  The 
sense  of  intrusion  was  too  strong  for  me  to  go 
all  over  it.  I  went  into  the  room  where  I  sat 
the  night  before.  I  had  not  paused  to  mark 
the  dusty  gloom,  or  to  feei  nervous,  when  I 
happened  to  glance  througn  the  glass  of  the 
secretary.  I  bent  to  admire  the  writing  thrust 
behind  the  worn  green  silk.  I  saw  my  own 
Christian  name.  I  opened  the  doors.  Frag- 
ments which  had  lain  there  by  chance  so 
long,  plainly  worthless,  at  the  mercy  of  the 
next  tenant,  whoever  it  might  be.  I  took 
them  by  right  of  my  name  of  Rose.  They 
were  leaves  torn  from  a  note-book,  mostly  the 
record  of  a  singer's  daily  practice;  so  many 


ilje  Eteafc  JDeafc?"  297 



minutes  to  these  exercises  or  to  those,  or  to 
songs,  and  so  much  time  to  French  and  Italian. 
But  here  and  there  came  these  entries : 

Rose !  sweet  blossom  in  the  wilderness  of  names, 
freighted  with  fragrance  of  lovers'  vows  folded  in  it, 
with  hints  of  passionate  meetings  and  farewells  em- 
balmed in  amber  moonlights,  of  dusky  old  gardens  at 
nightfall,  whose  satin  -  cheeked  flowers — wakeful, 
pale,  and  tearful,  or  crumpled,  flushed,  and  warm, 
tossing  in  their  dreams  —  all  sigh  their  hearts  out  for 
the  day  who  loved  and  rode  away — for  a  Rose  should 
have  an  ardent  soul.  She  would  not  look  at  me  now ; 
but  when  skilled  in  my  art,  famous,  rich — who 
knows? 

This  evening  I  saw  her  sitting  in  her  window,  look- 
ing lonely  and  sad,  for  her  drooping  head  reminded  me 
of  a  heavy-hearted  flower.  Could  I  but  be  her  shelter- 
ing and  supporting  leaf !  But  I  am  like  the  ground  at 
the  feet  of  my  Rose  —  no  more  able  to  come  near  her 
sweet  lips,  or  touch  her  dainty  hand !  Soon  her  cur- 
tains were  drawn.  Into  the  moon-lit  space  between 
our  houses,  from  the  depths  of  my  heart,  I  sang 
Fesca's  impassioned  "  Maiden  at  the  Window." 

I  love  her ;  but  how  can  that  serve  her—  the  love  of 
one  with  no  wealth  beyond  his  silver  tenor  and  his 
golden  hope.  She  might  as  well  be  the  wild  rose  who 
blushes  in  lonely  woodlands,  her  sweet  soul  unblessing 
and  unblest,  and  dies  with  no  knowledge  of  bliss  that 
might  have  been  hers.  She  may  never  know  of  the 
kisses  I  long  to  give  her.  It  is  strange  to  think  of  our 


298  "&r*  ttje  JDeair 


cool  unconsciousness  of  precious  treasures  of  heart  and 
soul  in  those  around  us  whom  we  never  know. 

How  hard  is  my  fate!  My  mind  is  like  a  phantom 
battle-field,  with  this  conflict  carried  on  in  silence  —  an 
awful,  noiseless  war,  as  of  shadows ;  but,  to  me,  what 
dread  realities !  Sometimes  I  think  I  must  break  my 
bond  with  my  cousin.  What  a  cursed  fool  I  was 
to  bargain  away  my  freedom  for  the  sake  of  her 
money,  for  study  here  and  in  Europe !  But  love  was 
to  me  only  a  name.  When  1  made  that  contract  I  had 
not  seen  Rose. 

To  see  Rose  sitting  here  before  me,  to  hear  her  say, 
"  I  love  you ! "  would  be  enough  to  come  back  for 
from  another  world.  But  what  we  miss  here  must  be 
gone  forever. 

"  We  shall  go  down  to  earth, 

And  be  raised  again  from  her  ; 
But  there  is  no  resurrection  birth 
For  the  things  that  never  were." 

Sometimes  I  seem  to  live  but  to  see  her  shadow  on 
her  curtain,  her  flitting  form  in  the  garden,  or  going  in 
or  out.  Bliss  and  woe !  Then  I  force  myself  to  scales 
and  exercises  of  the  like  sameness,  that  may  dull  my 
senses  like  a  narcotic. 


Last  night,  at  my  open  window,  I  poured  out  my 
whole  soul  in  the  love-songs  of  Beethoven  and  Schu- 
bert. Edith  supposed  I  was  making  out  my  hours  of 
practice.  The  only  neighbors  near  enough  to  hear 
may  have  thought  me  mad,  but  I  did  not  care.  I  had 


"Sir*  tlje  IDeab  ?Dea5?"  299 


seen  &?r  lighted  room  grow  dark ;  I  knew  my  voice 
rang  through  her  dreams.  The  nightingale  singing  to 
the  rose,  I  thought ;  and  was  I  not  also  leaning  my 
breast  against  a  thorn  ? 

My  God!  What  an  awful  feeling  is  jealousy! 
Three  days  ago,  through  our  open  windows,  I  watched 
Rose  with  a  suitor.  It  was  plain  that  he  was  wooing, 
and  that  she,  though,  it  seemed,  not  much  caring,  still 
she  listened.  I  thought  of  the  "Malediction"  from 
HaleVy's  "Charles  the  Sixth."  My  teacher,  an  old 
opera-singer,  had  told  me  how  the  spell  of  this  fatal  air 
followed  the  pointing  finger  of  a  tenor  of  the  Grand 
Opera  at  Paris :  now  it  was  one  of  the  audience  who 
dropped  in  a  fit;  then  he  signed  downward,  and  the 
shock  was  upon  a  carpenter  under  a  trap-door;  again, 
reaching  up,  a  scene-shifter  fell  senseless.  I  burst  into 
the  solemn  air.  If  ever  such  subtle  influence  worked, 
I  meant  it  should  now.  I  wished  there  could  be  poison 
in  sound.  I  hated  that  unknown  man.  I  willed  him 
to  lose  his  cause.  I  thought  how  Stradella's  heavenly 
tones  in  his  own  hymn,  the  prayer  of  a  bruised  and 
rueful  soul,  changed  the  minds  of  those  who  had  come 
to  slay  him.  Could  I  make  mine  evil  enough  to  crush 
that  man's  hopes?  My  song  should  be  an  alembic 
through  which  passion,  hate,  and  despair  could  distill 
a  strong  and  malign  force.  I  shook.  I  grew  afraid  of 
my  own  voice,  of  my  own  soul.  The  man  rose  as  if 
unwilling  to  leave.  I  willed  him  to  go.  I  quaked  from 
head  to  foot.  Cold  drops  beaded  my  brow.  In  the 
glass  I  caught  sight  of  my  uplifted,  menacing  hand, 
and  of  my  eyes,  which  were  strange  to  me,  blazing 
with  a  fierce,  inward  fire,  like  those  of  a  wild  beast  that 


300  "are  tl)e  SDeair 


sees  its  prey.  He  went.  I  drew  free  breath.  I  felt  as 
if  I  had  been  out  of  my  body.  And  I  did  not  find  my 
voice  for  two  days  after.  Can  there  be  truth  in  the 
old  saying  that  curses  come  home? 

How  can  I  bear  to  drift  away  with  no  anchor  in  her 
life?  Oh,  it  is  too,  too  hard.  I  have  studied  so  long ; 
I  owe  too  much  to  Cousin  Edith.  I  must  keep  on.  But 
I  must  earn  enough  to  pay  her,  and  then,  when  I  re- 
turn, I  shall  be  free !  O  Rose!  shall  I  find  you  here 
the  same?  Heaven  grant  it !  I  go — to  study,  to  sing, 
so  Edith  thinks;  but  7—  I  am  sure  of  but  one  thing ;  I 
go  —  to  return .  7  shall  come  back! 

This  was  all  of  the  journal.  There  was 
nothing  else  in  the  secretary,  except  a  book  of 
poems  by  the  Countess  Hahn-Hahn.  Side  by 
side  with  her  *'  Playful  Love"  was  pinned  a 
page  of  note-paper,  which  bore  the  last  of  her 
verses,  in  a  version  made  by  the  writer  of  the 
diary: 

Must  I  die? — straight  will  soar 

My  soul  above  to  thee ; 
And  thou  new  life  will  lend, 

New  light  to  me.    And  I  — 
Could  I  with  thee  quite  blend, 

I  should  not  fear  to  die. 

Shall  I  with  spirits  keep? 

No ;  though  I  soar,  depart 
As  spirits  heavenward  sweep, 

Yet  th'  heaven  is  thy  heart. 


tlje  JDeafc  JBeafc?"  301 


Thou  wilt  thy  truant  shield, 

And  ever  sympathize, 
And  ope  to  him  the  field 

Of  that  calm  paradise. 

* 

And  then  the  portal  golden 

Soft,  softly  close  again, 
Where  I,  in  peace  enf  olden, 

Shall  ever  rest  from  pain. 
As,  of  a  morn,  the  bee 

In  tulip  lies  apart, 
I  sleep  all  hid  in  thee, 

Swayed  of  and  in  thy  heart. 

I  was  amazed  at  these  bits  of  a  shattered 
romance  ;  for  the  writer  had  long  been  known 
abroad,  and  I  had  read  of  his  being  made 
court-singer  for  life  in  a  far-off  country.  It 
was  like  too  late  looking  down  some  charming 
road  one  might  have  taken.  I  sighed.  Was 
my  sigh  echoed,  or  was  it  the  sound  of  the 
swaying  boughs  of  the  old  gum-trees  ?  I  could 
not  stay.  I  ran  home  to  think  it  over.  I 
remembered  the  weird  music  which  had  so 
strangely  mingled  with  my  thoughts  when  I 
refused  the  man  whom  he  saw.  I  was  still 
lost  in  wonder  over  it  when,  in  spite  of  my 
resolves,  I  joined  the  club  at  night.  Neither 
my  companion  of  the  night  before  nor  my  old 
neighbor  were  there  this  time. 


302  "&re  tlje  JDeertr 


"This  is  a  risky  scheme,"  said  the  believer; 
"  it  is  playing  with  edged  tools." 

"We  fail  to  see  anything,"  said  the  inquirer, 
"because  visions  must  come  without  being 
evoked,  as  by  the  witches  in  the  play." 

"Shut  off  in  different  rooms,"  said  the 
joker,  "  who  knows  which  is  witch." 

"  What  I  can  not  make  agree  with  there 
being  ghosts,"  said  the  learned-looking  in- 
quirer, "is  this:  Heraclitus  says,  'Nothing  is, 
but  all  flows;  being  is  not  a  station,  but  a 
motion,  a  constant  becoming.'  So  those  out  of 
the  flesh  are  not  the  same  as  when  in  it. 
Always  moving  on,  no  one  crosses  the  same 
stream  or  sees  the  same  picture  twice." 

"  Then,"  cried  the  joker,  "  debtor  and 
creditor  of  yesterday  lose  that  relation  to-day. 
Owe,  let  us  be  joyful!" 

"Buddha,"  said  the  doubter,  "called  the 
soul  a  current  of  states  ;  when  the  mechanism 
goes  to  pieces,  the  soul  is  gone.  It  was  only 
the  mass  of  associations,  experience,  and 
memory." 

"  That,"  said  the  believer,  "  puts  man  on  a 
level  with  a  table  or  chair." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  joker,  "  let  us  be  chary  of 
that  unstable  belief." 

"  Life  is  a  current  of  states,"  said  I;  "it  is 


llje  Uteab  ftteab?11  303 


not  in  our  frames,  or  in  years,  but  in  moments 
of  bliss  or  woe,  hope  or  despair,  pain,  disgust, 
strength,  or  weakness.  Those  who  have  not 
known  *  raptures  and  desolations/  have  no 
spirit  to  come  back." 

We  were  placed  as  before,  but  not  without 
much  dispute. 

I  thought  of  the  odd  folks  now  in  these 
rooms,  queer  as  the  thoughts  that  lurk  in  the 
cells  of  a  madman's  brain.  I  waited,  like 
them,  but  not  for  the  same  reason.  I  was 
anxious  for  his  coming,  though  I  felt  faint  and 
ready  to  run  home  to  shun  meeting  his  eyes. 
What  if  he  did  not  come  ?  At  the  thought,  a 
weight  on  my  spirits  changed  the  look  of  the 
room,  as  a  cloud  dulls  the  sunny  landscape. 
With  a  thrill,  a  shiver  of  delight,  I  heard  him 
enter. 

As  he  stood  for  a  moment,  looking  at  me  over 
the  lamp  on  the  table,  the  faint  radiance 
making  his  statuesque  beauty  glow  out  of  the 
dimness  as  if  conjured  by  a  spell,  the  scent  of 
the  breath  -of  -heaven  and  clove  -pink  in  his 
button-hole  might  have  been  that  of  spices 
burned  for  an  incantation.  What  was  it  I  saw 
in  those  fine  eyes?  Neither  scorn  nor  pity; 
they  were  kind,  but  full  of  an  overwhelming 
surprise. 


304  "Qlre  trje 


"  Again!"  he  murmured;  then  kept  the  club 
rule  of  silence. 

1  was  confused.  I  could  scarcely  breathe. 
My  head  whirled.  I  reeled  to  a  chair.  The 
flickering  rays  of  the  lamp  danced  about  him, 
like  my  restless  thoughts,  while  we  waited. 
Waited?  I  forgot  the  club,  the  house,  that  I 
was  in  the  city,  in  the  world.  1  knew  only 
that  the  man  I  loved  sat  before  me.  I  could 
not  love  those  who  sought  me.  How  was  it 
that  my  heart  leaped  at  a  glance  from  this 
stranger's  eyes?  Stranger?  Had  we  not 
known  each  other  from  the  first  of  creation  ? 
The  king  had  come  to  his  own  again  ! 

After  even  the  little  I  had  known  of  the  club 
disputes,  I  was  not  surprised  to  see  the  pale 
young  man  shun  the  others  when  we  all  left. 
As  we  went  out  into  the  windy  night,  the  well- 
known  street  and  view  seemed  new.  I  felt 
as  if  I  had  left  the  real  world  behind;  that, 
truly,  one  "lived"  only  in  "raptures  and  deso- 
lations." San  Francisco,  the  club,  were  vague 
phantoms,  dreams  within  dreams.  I  roused  to 
myself  at  my  own  gate,  with  Mr.  H  -  's 
voice  in  my  ear: 

"Are  these  all?"  he  asked,  looking  after  the 
members  going  down  the  street.  And  watch- 
ing, with  a  pang  of  regret,  their  vanishing 
forms,  I  forgot  to  answer. 


irje  EDectfr  JDectfr?"  305 


Then  I  cried:  "Mr.  H  -  ,  it  has  just  come 
back  to  me  how  you  urged  my  folks  not  to  take 
that  very  house  a  year  or  two  ago..  Why  did 
you  do  so  ?  '  ' 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  any  one  live  in  ft,  ".he 
answered.  "My  friend  K  -  ,  the  rare  tenor, 
used  to  be  there.  Poor  fellow!  He  was  to 
have  married  a  cousin,  whose  money  helped 
him  to  study  music  ;  but  I  have  always  thought 
his  heart  was  elsewhere.  She  held  him  in  a 
thrall,  which  wore  upon  him;  and  the  voice, 
most  frail  of  all  instruments,  is  hurt  by  worry. 
His  was,  and  at  last  left  him.  This  shock,,  and 
disappointment,  killed  him." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  sorry!"  I  cried.  "I  never 
saw  him,  but  I  shall  not  forget  his  voice.  In 
'Robin  Adair'  it  was  like  <the  flute  of  the 
twilight  wind.'  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  H  --  .  "As  I  stood  by  his 
grave,  I  thought  of  what  Antipater  said  over 
the  tomb  of  Orpheus  :  '  Here  lies  a  poet  ;  here 
lies  a  soul  that  sang  ;  here  lies  the  sound  of  the 
wind.'  He  did  not  want  to  die,  though  he 
would  say  to  me,  *  Then  I  shall  be  free!'  His 
cousin,  a  spiteful  woman,  seemed  to  hate  to 
have  him  escape  her  control,  though  he  did 
that  whenever  he  sang.  His  voice  raised  a 
magic  wall  around  him  —  we  could  only  listen 


306 


afar.  _  After  his  death,  she  said  to  me,  'He 
has  got  away  from  me  now'  —  but  wait  till  I 
die!1  with  a  motion  that  was  a  threat.  She 
would  not  return  here,  and  has  been  trying  to 
have  the  house  sold." 

"But  why  did  you  not  want  us  to  move 
there?"  I  asked."" 

"He  once  said  to  me,"  Mr.  H  -  went  on: 
"'If,  when  I  dream,  I  can  see  the  old  house, 
go  over  it,  see  her  in  the  window  across  the 
way,  may  it  not  be  that  such  pleasure,  felt 
by  me  now  through  none  of  the  nerves  of 
sense,  will  be  known  to  my  spirit  after  I  die  ? 
Perhaps,  unheard,  unseen,  the  two  worlds 
blend,  and  we  shall  move  along  our  old  paths, 
with  rare  visions  of  the  living,  who  will  seem 
unreal  and  awful  to  us.  I  wonder  if  my  soul 
could  then  affect  one  I  loved,  or  must  I  be  a 
flitting  spectre  with  no  power.  We  shall  see.'  " 

"  Then  you  believe  -  ?  "  I  began. 

"I  have  no  belief,"  he  said,  quickly.  "It 
seems  to  me  nothing  is  too  strange  to  happen," 
unconsciously  repeating  the  words  of  a  club- 
member. 

"No,"  I  thought,  after  he  left  me,  "I  should 
wonder  at  nothing  after  feeling  this  sudden 
deep  interest  in  two  strangers,  such  regret  for 
the  singer,  and  such  absorbing  passion  for  my 


If)*  JDtfetfr  JEeafcT1  307 


companion  of  the  last  two  evenings."  Why 
had  I  not  asked  Mr.  H  -  who  he  was? 

The  next  night  I  meant  should  be  my  last 
with  the  club,  shrunk  this  time  to*  the  inquirer 
and  wife,  and  the  joker. 

"  I  half  believe,"  said  the  inquirer,  "shadows 
are  bound  to  go  through  tragedies  whose  scenes 
shift  with  no  lookers-on,  night  after  night,  year 
after  year,  as  if  the  hour  could  not  forget,  and 
would  not  let  the  place  do  so.  It  is  the  horror 
of  Doom.  But  it  is  not  for  all  to  have  it  proved 
to  them.  Our  inner  sense  has  its  bounds,  like 
our  other  senses." 

The  joker  wound  the  great  hall-clock,  which 
began  to  work  with  convulsive  gasps,  as  if  it 
had  been  scared  into  silence.  "  Too  fright- 
ened," he  said,  "to  cover  its  face  with  its 
hands." 

The  small  room  where  I  sat  had  at  once  a 
charm  and  a  sadness  for  me.  I  was  filled  with 
the  vain  desire  to  have  known  its  old  tenant. 
I  wondered  about  the  end  of  such  strong 
passions  as  his.  Can  they  cease  here  ?  Are 
they  merely  to  brighten  our  path,  like  vivid 
colors  in  flowers  and  sky  ?  In  fancy  I  heard 
again  the  lovely  tenor  airs  from  "Lucia," 
"Faust,"  and  "Martha"  which  had  of  old 
rung  through  this  window.  I  thought  of  his 


308  "&rs  ttye  EDeafc 


journal,  and  his  translation  of  the  German 
love-song.  And  I  was  haunted  —  haunted  by 
two  lines  of  Jean  Ingelow's  — 

"I  have  no  place  on  sea  or  shore, 
But  only  in  thy  heart." 

But  through  it  all  ran  the  stronger  under- 
current of  longing  for  the  coming  of  the  pale 
young  member  of  the  club  —  a  longing  that 
made  me  blame  my  fickle  heart,  so  touched  by 
one  stranger's  love  and  grief,  and  just  as  much 
thrilled  by  another's  sweet  eyes;  a  longing 
that  made  me  tremble,  and  made  my  heart,  at 
the  sound  of  his  step,  feel  as  if  clutched  by 
Fate,  and  nearly  powerless  to  beat. 

He  started  at  seeing  me,  and,  pausing  an 
instant,  murmured,  "Once  more!"  and  sank 
into  a  chair  which  stood  back  to  the  door;  and 
again  I  was  spellbound  by  his  shy  but  ardent 
gaze,  by  the  scent  of  the  same  sweet  flowers 
he  wore. 

With  none  of  my  suitors,  thronging  like  bees 
about  the  honey  of  my  wealth,  had  I  ever  felt 
this  tumult  of  emotion.  I  was  glad  of  the  club 
rule  of  silence.  I  could  have  thrown  myself 
into  his  arms,  but  I  could  not  speak. 

What  was  the  fatal  enigma  his  eyes  held? 
They  had  a  mystic  spell,  as  if  they  had  seen 


"Qtre  ttye  Uteafc  SDeafc?"  309 

deeper  than  most  eyes.  Looking  into  them, 
my  soul  was  lured  down  an  unknown  tide,  on 
and  on,  voyaging  through  their  unspeakable 
glory,  with  glimpse  of  a  new  world  behind 
them,  dropping  through  endless  gulfs,  till  only 
by  a  fierce  strain  I  turned  my  head  away, 
blinded,  breathless,  dazed,  and  awed;  for  far 
down  in  those  fathomless  depths  I  touched 
eternity — I  found  the  immortal  —  Love! 

Sitting  there  so  long,  so  still,  it  seemed  to 
my  strained  nerves  that  we  were  like  ghosts, 
and  only  the  pictures  on  the  wall  had  life  and 
motion.  The  hall-clock  groaned  twelve  times, 
but  my  watch  lacked  ten  minutes  of  twelve. 
A  cold  draught  rushed  in  as  at  the  opening  and 
closing  of  some  of  the  doors.  A  nameless  fear 
seized  me.  But  a  woman  I  had  not  yet  seen 
with  the  club  looked  in  at  the  open  door,  sur- 
prise, doubt,  and  scorn  in  her  intent  face. 

A  woman  more  to  be  feared  than  a  ghost,  I 
thought,  as  I  marked  her  evil  look.  She  paused 
in  amaze  at  sight  of  us.  Suddenly  the  dim 
light  wholly  failed.  To  be  in  the  dark  was  to 
recall  the  errand  here  of  the  club.  It  could  not 
be  borne,  even  with  others  near  me.  After 
crossing  what  seemed  an  endless  space,  I 
reached  the  mantel,  felt  for  a  match,  found 
one,  and  groped  back  to  the  centre-table. 


3io 


As  I  lighted  the  lamp,  I  saw  him  watching 
me  with  questioning  eyes,  as  if  unmoved  by 
the  loss  of  the  light  or  its  return.  I  saw  her 
looking  in  with  a  wicked  smile.  A  jealous 
woman,  I  judged  —  all  the  more  as  she  drew 
back  before  he  could  turn  to  find  the  cause  of 
my  changed  looks.  But  he  was  curious  enough 
to  leave  the  room.  Was  she  his  wife  ?  Was  I 
bewitched  by  a  man  bound  to  another  woman  ? 
Has  each  case  its  like  ?  Was  another  man  in 
this  very  house  held  in  bonds?  These  ques- 
tions perplexed  me  all  night. 

The  next  afternoon  I  went  over  to  look  for  a 
favorite  lace  handkerchief,  dropped  in  coming 
out  with  the  club.  I  found  it  caught  on  a 
thistle,  near  the  top  stair.  It  was  Sunday,  and 
the  chimes  of  Saint  Patrick's  Church  came  to 
me  clear  and  sweet.  Some  of  the  words  which 
are  sung  to  the  air  they  played  ran  through 
my  mind: 

"A  realm  of  shadowy  forms  out  yonder  lies. 

Faint  sounds  of  friendly  voices  come  and  go, 
That  seem  to  lure  us  forth  into  the  air  ; 

But  whence  they  come  perchance  no  ear  may  know, 
And  where  they  go  perchance  no  foot  may  dare." 

I  looked  at  the  old  house,  longed  and  yet  did 
not  like  to  go  in.  But  I  knew  none  of  the  club 


311 


were  likely  to  come  until  night,  when  they 
were  to  make  their  last  visit  —  and  as  for 
ghosts,  had  we  not  tested  it?  What  worse 
than  to  be  haunted  by  vain  yearnings  after  a 
different  past,  or  to  know  a  present  not  to  be 
shaped  by  my  will  because  a  woman  may  not 
speak  first.  Perhaps  I  was  to  fade  —  the  un- 
gathered  rose  that  cannot  seek  its  lover's 
hand!  Surely,  if  he  felt  as  I  did,  he  could 
not  long  rest  without  seeking  me  outside  of  the 
club. 

I  pushed  in  through  the  dreary  hall.  I 
passed  on  into  the  small  front  room.  It  gave 
me  the  same  feeling  of  sorrow  and  regret.  It 
was  like  the  return  from  a  funeral.  How 
sorry  I  now  felt  that  I  had  never  known  the 
people  who  used  to  live  here  !  I  had  often 
thought,  perhaps  the  friends  we  never  meet 
might  have  been  the  dearest.  I  could  not  tear 
myself  away.  For  the  first  time  by  daylight 
I  looked  from  the  window,  which,  to  my  sur- 
prise, had  a  full  view  of  my  own  room  across 
the  way.  They  must  have  known  more  of 
me  than  I  ever  knew  about  them. 

The  house  shook  in  the  wind,  as  if  stirred 
by  unseen  hands,  but  in  the  room  all  was  still 
as  if  in  a  picture.  There  were  the  rusty  nails 
and  black  moss  in  the  grass-grown  garden,  and 


312  "Sir*  llje  JEeafr 


stairs,  as  at  the  "moated  grange";  but  no  fly 
buzzed  in  the  window,  no  mouse  squeaked  in 
the  wainscot,  no  bird  chirped  on  the  roof. 
Nothing  moved  but  the  clock  in  the  hall,  and 
the  shadow  of  a  gum-tree  across  the  floor.  My 
little  dog  and  I  sat  still  as  statues. 

As  in  the  gloom  of  Gerome's  pictures,  rag- 
ged beggar  and  peddler,  in  the  softened  light 
of  oriental  canvas-covered  streets,  become 
grand  and  suggestive  ideals,  so  in  this  dim, 
lonely  room  common  things  had  a  weird,  un- 
real look;  —  the  lounge  took  coffin-shape  ;  the 
tall,  narrow  secretary  loomed  like  a  monument 
near  it.  I  could  fancy  the  veil  over  the  pic- 
ture stirred.  The  chairs  gave  sudden  creaks, 
as  if  bearing  unseen  burdens. 

I  looked  out  of  the  window,  and  saw  the 
buildings  of  the  city  far  below  stand  out  in  the 
light  of  the  sinking  sun,  with  sudden  sharp 
lines,  as  long-forgotten  things  start  up  in  the 
mind  of  one  dying.  Why  were  my  thoughts 
all  of  death?  Then  a  line  of  phantoms  of 
silent  tunes,  long  since  sung  here,  passed  by 
my  ears. 

I  thought  of  the  surprise  and  dislike  in  that 
woman's  face  the  night  before,  and  of  what 
slight  ground  for  jealousy  she  had,  when  he 
and  I  sat  in  such  silence,  —  but  recalling  his 


JDeafc?"  313 


speaking  eyes,  my  heart's  quickened  beating, 
and  the  flushes  I  felt  mount  my  cheeks,  I  knew 
she  had  good  cause. 

I  was  vexed  at  myself,  both  for  being  here 
almost  against  my  will,  and  for  a  nervous  fear 
which  had  come  over  me  when  once  inside 
the  house.  I  would  not  yield  to  it.  There 
was  a  scrap  of  paper  on  the  table.  I  drew  a 
pencil  from  my  pocket,  and  tried  to  forget  by 
writing  about 

THE  GHOST  OF  YESTERDAY. 

Faint  in  the  cloudless  sky  yet  shnws 
The  last  night's  moon,  whose  phantom  white 

Has  haunted  dawn's  pale-blue  and  rose 
With  thrilling  gleam  of  lost  delight, 

And  lingers  through  the  blaze  of  noon, 
Like  Banquo's  ghost  at  Macbeth  's  feast. 

Avaunt,  O  Spectre  whose  weird  rune 
Appears  to  me  when  thought  of  least  ! 

Though  clouds  from  out  life's  sky  seem  furled 

By  dazzling  bliss,  to  me  is  clear  — 
Far  off  and  dreamlike  —  my  own  world 

Burnt  out,  my  yesterday  thus  here  ! 

A  long-drawn  sigh,  which  sounded  close  by 
me,  made  me  look  up.  Bravely  as  I  had  tried 
to  think  only  of  the  words  I  wrote,  I  was 
startled.  My  dog  crouched  at  my  feet  and 


314 


barked.  Had  I  left  the  front  door  on  the  latch  ? 
I  rushed  to  see.  Turning  in  the  hall  with  the 
feeling  of  being  watched,  I  saw  a  woman's 
head  peering  round  a  distant  door.  There  was 
a  familiar  look  about  her.  Thinking  it  must 
be  one  of  the  club,  I  started  toward  her,  but 
she  drew  back  and  closed  the  door,  which  she 
held  against  me. 

Was  she  afraid  of  me?  I  laughed,  a  little 
nervously,  wrenched  it  open  —  but  no  one  was 
in  sight!  I  called,  no  answer,  but,  glancing 
up,  saw  the  same  head  hanging  over  the  ban- 
isters upstairs,  and  part  of  her  dress.  I  was 
struck  with  something  so  wicked  in  her  look 
that  my  little  Spitz  ran  cowering  and  whining 
to  the  street-door.  But,  thinking  I  ought  to 
explain  my  presence  there,  I  went  upstairs. 
To  my  surprise,  the  woman,  without  waiting 
for  me,  passed  down  the  long  hall  and  turned 
a  corner. 

I  hurried  after,  thinking  I  might  have  fright- 
ened her,  if  she  were  a  nervous  member,  and, 
in  my  haste,  nearly  fell  through  to  the  lower 
story,  for  at  the  turning  yawned  an  opening 
where  stairs  had  been  taken  down.  My  dress 
caught  on  a  nail  in  the  floor,  and  held  me  back 
just  in  time.  As  I  freed  my  skirt,  I  saw  that 
from  the  hall-window,  just  beyond  the  pitfall, 


315 


my  house  could  be  seen  better  than  from 
downstairs.  A  smothered  chuckle,  followed 
by  a  cry  of  rage,  made  me  look  down.  The 
woman  was  watching  me  from  below.  There 
must  be  some  other  flight,  I  thought,  yet  found 
none,  and  went  to  the  lower  room,  but  she  had 
hidden. 

My  verses,  dropped  as  I  ran  out,  were  torn 
into  shreds,  and  strewed  on  the  floor.  Think- 
ing it  was  one  of  my  dog's  tricks,  I  felt  I  ought 
not  to  have  brought  him,  that  I  must  wait  and 
excuse  myself  to  her.  I  turned  to  look  for 
him.  What  was  this  fluffy  mass  by  the  hall- 
door  ?  Not  my  gay  little  comrade  ?  This  poor 
creature  in  spasms  !  Some  evil  power  was  at 
work  here.  Even  that  cruel-faced  woman 
would  be  welcome  company.  I  called.  No 
reply.  I  tried  to  open  the  outer  door,  but  it 
seemed  barred  by  the  rusty,  large  lock,  to 
which  there  was  no  key. 

I  strove  to  be  brave.  I  went  through  the 
lower  part.  The  back  door  was  fast.  I 
thought  she  must  have  fled  that  way.  It 
was  awful  to  be  alone  there  !  I  saw  nothing 
strange,  but  felt  as  if  dogged,  doors  opening 
behind  me  as  soon  as  I  closed  them.  I  tried 
to  think  it  was  caused  by  the  jar  of  my  steps 
and  the  uneven  flooring,  but  1  felt  the  Bible 


316  "&re  tlje  tDectfr 


was  right  to  forbid  the  calling  of  spirits.  Had 
not  the  Ghost  Club  brought  all  this  horror 
upon  me?  It  made  no  odds  that  they  had 
been  searching  to  prove  there  was  no  such 
thing.  There  was  the  ugly  story  of  the 
hanged  man,  whose  body  was  dissected  and 
his  skull  ground  to  dust;  yet  in  the  night  the 
bits  were  seen  to  join,  one  by  one,  till  the 
man  was  whole,  and  went  out  of  the  door. 

I  went  back  to  the  front  room.  Trying  to 
forget  my  fears,  I  raised  the  gauze  screen  from 
the  portrait  over  the  mantel.  It  was  not  unlike 
the  face  of  the  strange  woman  !  In  my  vexa- 
tion toward  her,  I  flung  the  veil  against  it 
again.  The  next  instant,  my  elbows  were 
fiercely  gripped  from  behind.  I  was  rushed 
swiftly  toward  the  window  I  had  opened  when 
I  first  came  in.  My  heart  nearly  stopped 
beating.  Years  of  torture  seemed  crowded  into 
that  one  moment.  I  was  to  be  thrown  out,  to 
fall  from  that  great  height  to  the  street.  I 
shrieked  in  hopeless  terror.  I  was  suddenly 
cast  on  the  floor,  and,  when  I  could  look  round, 
I  saw  that  woman  near  the  door,  with  her  hard 
face  turned  as  if  to  listen. 

Some  one  was  on  the  steps.  She  glided  out, 
and  was  upstairs,  as  the  front  door,  forced  by 
stronger  hand  than  mine,  opened,  and,  to  my 


tl)£  HJeair  SDeaft?"  317 


deep  relief  and  joy,  the  pale  young  man  came 
in.  Braced  by  the  relief  of  his  coming,  then  I 
could  talk  to  him.  He  only  nodded  once  in  a 
while,  but  his  eyes  again  held  mine.  To  my 
questions  about  the  woman,  he  shook  his  head, 
and  seemed  surprised  when  I  said,  "  She  was 
here  last  night.  " 

So  she  had  gone  when  he  went  out.  I  did 
not  wonder  she  was  jealous,  as  I  stood  there, 
hardly  conscious  of  anything  but  the  charm  of 
his  presence,  and  the  scent  of  the  bit  of  breath- 
of-heaven  and  blood-red  pink  he  wore.  And 
he  —  he  kept  the  club  rule  of  silence.  But  I 
thought  I  knew  what  he  was  thinking.  I  had 
not  slept  since  I  had  last  seen  him.  I  passed 
the  night  watching,  as  I  lay  in  bed,  the  old 
house  —  looming  dim  and  large  against  the 
starry  sky,  —  or,  half-dozing,  dreamed  of  flitting 
lights  in  the  windows  and  echoing  strains  of 
music. 

I  had  not  slept  for  thinking  of  him.  Fancy- 
ing what  bliss  his  kisses  might  be,  waked  me 
as  fully  as  a  real  draught  of  wine.  Heaven 
help  me!  And  he  knew  it  —  he  knew  it;  his 
eyes  told  me  that. 

Those  wonderful  eyes!  They  seemed  so 
near  and  dear  a  part  of  myself,  that  I  forgot  we 
were,  as  the  world  goes,  strangers.  Surely  we 


318  "&ru  tlje  SDeafc 


had  known  each  other  for  eternities.  I  forgot 
that  it  was  not  a  woman's  part  to  woo.  I 
thought  only  of  my  love  —  my  love,  fierce  as 
the  wind,  resistless  as  the  sea,  wide-spreading 
as  the  sky  !  I  lost  my  senses. 

"Where  have  you  been  all  these  years?" 
I  cried.  "We  must  have  known  each  other 
before,  for  I  love  you,  I  love  you,  and  it  is  no 
new  feeling.  My  life  has  been  a  dream,  a 
nightmare  —  at  last  I  am  awake!  Do  not 
leave  me  again,  for  I  could  not  bear  it. 
Stay!  Stay!" 

"Oh,  if  it  might  only  be  !"  he  murmured. 

He  came  nearer,  bent  over  as  if  to  kiss  me, 
when  a  white  hand  was  laid  on  his  shoulder. 
He  turned  in  amazement.  She  stood  beside 
him. 

"You/"  he  groaned,  with  a  gesture  of  de- 
spair, and  reeled  back.  He  grew,  if  possible, 
more  bloodless  than  ever.  I  could  see  him 
tremble.  Dismay  and  dread  in  his  face,  and 
a  hunted  look  came  into  his  eyes. 

With  a  look  of  triumph  at  me,  she  beckoned 
him.  Making  a  motion  toward  me,  as  of 
mingled  farewell  and  warning,  he  slowly  went 
after  her,  though  often  turning  to  look  back. 
I  followed.  They  passed  along  the  hall,  where 
my  dog  lay  dead,  out  of  the  front  door,  and 


llje  IDeab  jDDeab?"  319 


slowly  down  the  long  steps.  At  each  landing 
he  stopped  and  gazed  back,  then  followed  her 
into  the  dusk  through  which  the  members  of 
the  club  were  toiling  up  —  among  them  Mr. 
H  -  ,  with  a  lighted  lantern.  They  paid  no 
heed  to  the  figures  going  down,  and  were  sur- 
prised at  my  wild  agitation. 

"  Look  !    Look  !  "    I  cried  to  Mr.  H  -  . 

"Why!  Your  eyes  have  been  answered!" 
he  muttered,  staring  at  me. 

"What  is  it?"  "Where?"  "When?" 
"What  happened?"  "What's  the  matter, 
H  --  ?"  urged  the  club. 

"Let  us  get  away  from  this  house!"  he 
cried,  looking  uneasily  behind  him,  and  sign- 
ing to  the  doubter  to  lock  the  door.  His  hand 
trembled  so  that  the  lantern  shook,  as  he  said  : 

"I  came  over,  in  case  any  of  you  were 
here,  to  warn  you.  I  have  just  heard  Miss 
Edith  L  -  ,  who  lived  here,  died  in  Paris  last 
night." 

"Last  night!  —  at  ten  minutes  of  twelve 
o'clock?"  I  gasped,  suddenly  faint. 

"Well—,"  he  thought  a  moment,  "  yes  — 
ten  minutes  past  nine  there  would  just  make 
it  —  how  did  you  know  of  it?" 

"  Tall,  —  light  eyes,  —  a  set,  stern  face  —  not 
without  malice?"  I  stammered. 


320  "Qlr*  llje  fttectfr 


"  I  thought  you  never  saw  her?"  he  said. 

"  Tall,  —  dark,  —  with  a  face  like  an  antique 
bust,  —  divine  eyes?"  I  went  on. 

"  Then  you  had  seen  him,"  said  he.  Struck 
by  a  sudden  thought,  he  added:  "Do  you 
mean  —  can  it  be  that  you  —  how  —  where?" 

I  caught  his  arm.  "See  there!"  I  cried, 
pointing  where  the  two  forms  —  one  looking 
up  over  his  shoulder  —  had  paused  on  the 
lowest  landing,  but  now  moved  on.  Could  it 
be  that  my  touch  made  him  see  as  I  did  ? 

"My  God!"  he  cried,  his  nerveless  hand 
dropping  the  lantern.  "Then  I  was  too  late  !  " 

I  sank,  limp  and  helpless,  on  the  top  stair. 
The  glare  of  the  lantern  on  the  club's  eager 
faces  round  me,  with  their  various  looks  of 
wonder,  doubt,  content,  fear,  and  pity;  the 
jeering  sound  of  the  fog-horn;  the  shock  of 
such  an  end  to  my  romance  ;  a  keen  sense  of 
life's  "raptures  and  desolations,"  —  all  made 
me  hysterical,  as  I  burst  forth  : 

"You  —  you  think  --  ?" 

"I  know"  he  answered,  with  awe-struck 
face,  white  to  the  very  lips  that  could  scarcely 
say  the  words,  "you  have  seen  the  ghosts!" 


TORED  AT  NRL 


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